Hellfire
by Geeyaa
Summary: Charles/Erik Crossover AU: To escape persecutions from mutant assassinations disguised as 'The Witch Hunts', mutants have been flocking from all over Europe to find safety in a secret city under Paris. Erik is a mutant, locked up by the leader of the hunts to be used unknowingly as a deadly weapon against mutants. Charles is an aspiring young telepath who wants to save the world.
1. Prologue

The night was dark and the air frigid. Magda could see the tendrils of warm air curling out of her mouth as they sailed silently under the docks of Notre Dame. The bundle of warmth in her arms squirmed and mewled with discomfort as the bitter air brushed his delicate face. The mutants shot worried glances at their surroundings as the little boy cried, his voice loud in the silent night.

"Shut it up, will you? We'll be spotted!" One of the men hissed, his teeth bared and his eyes darting.

The human mother stroked her son's tiny head and murmured soothing words into his ear. "Hush, little one." She cooed, holding his warm weight closer to her chest.

A different man – a young, but experienced mutant with an extraordinary ability to slow time around himself and whomever he was touching – grunted a small approval when the child quietened and steered the boat to a narrow, partially hidden dock under a bridge where a man awaited them.

The three mutants and the woman climbed out of the boat, wincing slightly at the crunching the ice made under their feet.

"Four gold pieces for safe passage into Paris." He whispered, holding a small, leather pouch of coins out for the man. The young man had barely dropped the coins into the other man's hand when an arrow whizzed out of the darkness and buried itself into his arm.

The resulting cry pierced the night like a knife through silk, and it was chaos from there on in. Guards swarmed out of the shadows, taking a stand in a semi-circle around the group, spears pointed at the intruder's faces.

'_A trap!' _Magda exclaimed, clutching her son closer to her chest. A swell of protectiveness grew in her chest as panic and adrenaline coursed through her veins, boiling in her blood. She felt a strong arm wrap around her, shielding her and her child away from the cruel points of the spears aimed at them. She could think nothing of this though, terror for her baby coursing through her.

Magda's eyes widened with horror as a shadow fell over them, blocking the moonlight and drowning their figures in darkness. She felt the mutants all turn towards the source of the shadow and gasp collectively at who was stood there.

Her heart pounding in her chest, holding her baby as close to her as she could – as if that would ever protect his helpless form from being harmed – she too turned towards the shadow.

The sight that beheld her, made her heart skip with horror. They all gazed up in fear and alarm at the figure of a man with a cold stare and a wicked, wicked heart. They all knew of this man; he was the reason they had to flee Düsseldorf to Paris for their safety. He was known by many names – a different one for every country. In Germany, he was known as Klaus Schmidt, In the Netherlands he was called Claude Frolo. It was only his prey – mutants – that knew him by his true name.

"Sebastian Shaw." The man beside her breathed. Sebastian Shaw longed to purge the world of mutants, fearing their power as superior beings. So he had inflamed the minds of his fellow humans, causing panic and doubt to rise in the masses. Shaw had now made sure that mutants were hated and feared wherever they went, and soon the swarm of panic-stricken humans had created 'The Witch Hunts'.

The idea had spread like wildfire.

Fearing for their lives, the mutants fled or simply disappeared during the night. Some with less obvious mutations – that could hide easily among the crowds – did exactly that, and hid their mutation from the world and prayed that no one would discover their secret.

Magda hadn't had to worry about any of this when she was a girl; she was human, she was safe. That was, however, until she bore a son.

She and the other three young mutants had banded together, looking out for one another and protecting each other as they lived in Düsseldorf. Until one night, they were exposed.

They had fled in order to escape Sebastian Shaw and his Witch Hunts, only to run straight into his iron clutches on the edges of Paris. The thought sent Magda's thoughts roiling in dread tinged anger.

Her son whimpered and squirmed in her arms as he sensed rusted, iron cuffs being snapped shut over her friend's wrists. Surreptitiously, she dug her fingers into a pocket in her skirts and brought out a small gold ingot, which she placed gently into the hand of her son.

He stopped struggling immediately and begun playing with the precious metal, bending and re-shaping the solid block in his tiny fingers. She had to find a way out of here, she thought as one of the guards approached her with the iron cuffs.

He spotted the bundle wrapped tightly against her chest.

"You there! What are you hiding?" He shouted at her, trying to take the child from her grasp. She growled and twisted her body around her son, attempting to keep him from the man's clutches.

"Stolen goods, no doubt." Shaw drawled from atop his horse. "Take them from her."

She ran.

Throwing herself at an infinitesimal crack in her captor's formation, she barrelled through the startled men and dashed up the steps into Paris.

Snow capped shops and houses flew past her as she careened through the streets, clutching her boy in the safe net of her arms. She heard shouts and galloping hooves behind her as she tore through increasingly smaller back alleys to try and loose her pursuers.

The sound of steel shoed hooves echoed like gunfire through the quiet night, and the sound was quickly gaining on her. Not daring to throw a glance over her shoulder to check, she spotted a small iron gate blocking the path into the main square.

She leapt over it without thinking twice.

Her heart thundering behind her ribs, hope filled her chest as she took in the sight of the intimidating mass of Notre Dame towering over her. She had never run faster in her life than when she dashed up those cathedral steps.

Pounding her fist on the gigantic wooden doors, she screamed into the darkness. "_Sanctuary! Please! Give us Sanctuary!"_ but the doors remained resolutely locked. Panic rising in her chest, she heard Shaw approaching fast on his horse and turned on her heel, leaping down the icy steps with little thought other than _escape!_

Magda felt a strong hand reach and grab at the boy in her arms, pulling him roughly from her grasp. Heartbreak and terror running at equal wavelengths throughout her entire being, she turned and hung on to him as much as she could, leaning backwards in the effort.

Shaw was too strong, and she toppled backwards, smashing her skull on the Cathedral steps as her son was irrevocably taken away from her forever.

It was mere milliseconds before the darkness enveloped her.

oOo

Shaw watched with a deep sense of satisfaction as the blood pooled on the steps around the girl's head, contrasting sharply with the white snow around it.

It was regrettable that a human should be harmed in processes such as these, but – he thought with great venom – if they should throw their lot in with _them_, then they deserve not to live.

With no more thought on the dead girl, he turned his attention to the bundle in his arms, with was now _moving_; wriggling and crying pitifully, struggling against the blankets that protected it from the cold.

His curiosity was mild, but enough to be paid attention to, and he shifted a piece of cloth that covered the struggling mass.

He blinked as a large pair of large green-grey eyes gazed dolefully at him, tears welling up and spilling down the face they were set in.

"A baby?" He exclaimed quietly to himself, wondering. So _this _is what she was protecting. A small glinting object was wrapped in the child's tiny fist, and with a small sense of triumph, he plucked it out of its hands. _Like stealing sweets from a baby._ He smirked.

When the gold left the child's hands, it developed a comically outraged look, and Shaw watched with wide-eyed horror as the baby forcibly removed the precious metal from his fingers to bring it back into its own possession._ Without even touching it._

Gasping with shock and revulsion, he breathed. "A _mutant._"

It couldn't be allowed to exist, Shaw decided. From what he had learned of the monsters, it was incredibly rare that an infant manifested its mutant powers before the age of around eleven to thirteen, when puberty began to be a whisper in the body of the child. So the fact that this _baby_, so very, very young – barely six months from it's mother's womb – had already developed its abilities with so much control, so much raw _power_ was an alarming thought to Shaw.

Casting his eye around for a place to dispose the child, he spotted a well situated on the far side of the square. Holding the beast at arms length, he directed his horse towards the chasm in the ground.

Without remorse for what he was about to do, he held the child – which by now, was sobbing almost uncontrollably – over the pit. He only needed to steel himself a fraction before he was able to loosen his fingers-

"STOP!" Came a cry behind him. He turned to find the archdeacon, one arm raised and a furious red tinge to his face. For some unfathomable reason, Shaw felt the need to explain himself.

"This is an unholy demon. I'm sending it back to hell, where it belongs." The archdeacon ignored him in favour of crouching beside the dead girl, cradling her damaged head in his arms.

"Look at the innocent blood you have spilt on the _steps of Notre Dame."_ The man said the last words with incredulous fury, as if he was some vagabond who defaced one of his precious statues.

"I am guiltless; she ran, and I pursued." He countered, with lofty arrogance.

The man ignored him again. "Now you must add this _child's_ blood to your guilt?" He clearly didn't mean it as a question, but Shaw retorted anyway.

"My conscience is clear!" He argued defensively.

He was not prepared for the scoff that came from the holy man. "You can lie to yourself, and your minions. You can claim that you haven't a qualm; but you _never_ can run from, nor hide what you've done from The Eyes." He gestured angrily at the many hundreds of statues of saints, angels and disciples that all gazed disapprovingly down on them. He said the next words with quiet menace. "The Eyes of Notre Dame." The man said this as if this explained it all, as if it was the consequence of his actions itself.

Perhaps it was.

And for one time in his life of power and control, Shaw felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul. Perhaps by doing this _here_ in front of the holy steps of Notre Dame, and under the eyes of God, he had sentenced himself for eternal damnation.

But no, he hadn't actually caused her death. The stupid girl fell when he took the child from her; surely that counted for pardon.

But what if it didn't?

He turned back to the archdeacon, holding the small child to his chest with wide eyes and breathed. "What must I do?" The other man surveyed him calmly.

"Care for the child, and raise it as your own." Shaw gasped at the brazen answer. He surely could not be serious?

"_What?_" He growled, "I am to be saddled with this _mutant scu-" _He halted in his tirade and glanced calculatingly at the statues watching them. "Very well," He conceded with a growl, "But let him live with you, in your church."

The archdeacon looked taken aback. "Live here? _Where?" _He asked, watching with quizzical eyes. Shaw's brow pulled low over his eyes, as he looked down into the child's face shrewdly.

"Anywhere." He answered, but then, that was not enough. This child could not be known about; at least not know about his abilities. Knowing of his existence is acceptable, he admitted. But then, to do that, he would need to keep him away from the peasants, away from people…

But How?

"Just so He's kept locked away, where no one else can see." He continued. "The Bell Tower perhaps? And who knows? Our lord works in mysterious ways; even _this_ foul creature may yet prove one day to be of use to me."

A slow, maniacal grin spread across his face as the boy hiccupped and whimpered in his cocoon of blankets. This boy could be useful in bringing down the other mutants, he thought, and then, when I am done with him…

I will kill him.

oOo

The little mutant boy will never remember this scene, and will never realise just how close he became to having the same fate as his mother that day. But it was just as well, as the boy – who was named 'boy' until his fourth birthday when he had chosen a new name, Erik, after his favourite villain in a storybook – had much growing up to do, and as he developed, his powers grew way beyond what could be previously imagined of mutants (much to Shaw's frustration).

But meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a young woman lay grunting through the strains of labour and cried one final time before pushing a small, underweight newborn boy into the world. She took one look at his bloody mop of brown hair, and his startling blue eyes, before closing her eyes with a sigh, and fading into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 1

Once he'd woken, it didn't take Erik very long to find the incentive to get out of bed; he could feel the metal around him humming with excitement as new faces moved through the square, bringing their foreign alloys with them. Leaping out of his makeshift cot, he threw on a shirt that lay where he'd abandoned it late last night.

Tearing out onto his tower's balcony, he stopped for a moment, revelling in the feel of the sun on his skin and the cool breeze ruffling through his hair. It was times like these when he remembered why he loved it up here in the drafty, open bell tower, despite the pressing solitude.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Azazel, leaning casually against the stone wall separating the balcony from mid-air. The copper man turned and looked at Erik, an amused sparkle in his metallic eyes. He enjoyed the festivals just as much as Erik did.

Erik sidled up to him with his hands in his pockets. Out of his three creations, Azazel was his favourite, his first. He remembered making him, a mere boy of fifteen creating and shaping this life out of the metal he loved; he would have called it magic when the metallic red-skinned man had first twitched into consciousness, but he knew it wasn't that. Erik had merely connected the atoms together, flared the right sparks and boom. There he was.

Admittedly, Azazel's demonic appearance had been an outlet for every unholy thought, or feeling he had during his childhood. Erik was always so desperate to please his master, wanted to be the best he could be. The best he could be as a monster anyway. But even monsters needed friends.

By the time he was 17, Erik had made another friend – not to replace Azazel, nobody could do that – but to join them. His name was Janos, and he was everything Erik wanted to be. Despite being made of wind beaten, dark and weathered metal, he was beautiful; symmetrical features, defined jaw, chiselled cheekbones. Erik had made sure he'd had it all.

Erik wasn't beautiful. He had been told that many a time by Shaw; it was old news by now, but still he wished he were so. It was one of the two reasons he was forbidden to leave this tower. He was ugly, a bestial mess left behind by a mother that did not want him. She had abandoned him because she could not stand to look at him; and that's when Shaw took him in. It was something he'd be grateful for all his life.

He did not see anything out of the ordinary in his own features when he stared at his reflection in the coloured glass of the cathedral, but later Shaw had assured him that in fact, there were many things very, very wrong with his appearance; and that he, having grown up knowing his own reflection, had not considered anything spoiled.

The other was his 'abilities' – which were unholy, monstrous and evil; something that would surely get him persecuted as soon as they were revealed.

Emma came later, when he'd only just turned twenty. She embodied everything he wanted out of life – wisdom, laughter, and love. Not the way Shaw loved him, but the way a man would love a woman, and a woman would a man. With her, Erik had paid attention to the exact type of metal he was using. She was a woman; therefore it made sense for her to be linked to beauty in some way. Diamonds were considered to be a feminine beauty, weren't they? – The shine had to be perfect. In the end, he chose white steel (zirconium) to build her form, and despite his doubts – was the metal shiny enough? Did the atoms contain the right spark to light her flame? – It had suited her perfectly.

Azazel cleared his throat, jerking Erik from his reminisce. His smirk was more pronounced, but he didn't comment, turning back to watch the parade of people setting up for the festival below.

"So what do you think is going on down there? A fight? A flogging?" He sounded so absurdly hopeful; that it was all Erik could do not to chuckle.

"No, The Festival." He informed him. Azazel's head cocked to one side when he caught the capitalised letters.

"_The_ Festival?" He asked, seeming nonplussed. Erik was sure it was an act; surely he had to know what date it was - Or the _importance _of the date.

"_Men._" Emma muttered, throwing a fond, but irritated look in Azazel's direction as she stalked to their sides. "_The_ Festival. The Feast of Fools, you overgrown kettle." Erik leaned over the balcony to get a better look, wishing – as he did every year – that he could just get closer.

He hadn't noticed Janos wander up beside him until he spoke right next to his ear, making him jump. "It is a treat to see the colourful pageantry of the simple peasant folk."

Smirking, Emma rolled her eyes and nudged at Erik, who was now leaning so far over the wall, that Azazel was beginning to eye him nervously. "Gee, there's nothing like balcony seats to watch the ol' Feast Of Fools." She said with a dazzling grin, rubbing her hands together with unsuppressed glee.

Erik could feel his heart sinking by the second. He was twenty-four, and he had never seen The Festival first hand; he'd always watched from the confines of his tower – whereas his master had gone more times than the amount of years Erik had been alive.

He grunted and pushed himself up from the wall, feeling his face drop into the familiar scowl he had been adopting more and more frequently these days. "Yeah. Watch." He murmured dolefully before stalking back into the tower.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! What's the matter?" Emma asked after him just as Azazel inquired "Aren't you going to watch The Festival with us?"

Erik didn't answer them, and just continued back to his room. Slumping down in the chair in front of his workbench, he sighed, feeling more sad and lonely than he was used to feeling.

He fingered some of the small metal figurines of he'd always been in the habit of making, and rested his chin on the table. He loved his friends. Dearly. But they were metal and he was flesh. Sometimes the difference was just too great, regardless.

He sensed his three friends standing in the doorway. He didn't look at them.

He heard someone approach and felt a cold, unyielding hand placed comfortingly on his shoulder. "Now, Erik, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" Janos said, his voice like mercury - smooth and warm.

"I don't fell like just watching the festival that's all." Erik mumbled into the crook of his arm. It felt halfway rude not to talk to his face, but Erik was just too downhearted to even _try_ to care.

There was a moment of silence – Janos was always a quiet soul. But when he did speak, he spoke with such depth and meaning, it was almost too much for Erik to understand.

"Then, have you ever considered _going_ to The Festival?" He said after the moment was up. Erik scoffed. Of _course_ he'd considered it. He said as much to Janos.

"I just don't fit in." He said, "If my face didn't freak everyone out in seconds, then I'm pretty sure my 'talents' would end me up in jail or worse." He shuddered, forcing the tales Shaw had told him of the 'Witch Hunts' into the furthest reaches of his brain.

"I'm not," He hesitated a moment before saying the next word with such longing, he was sure he'd earned an 'Aw-he's-so-cute' smile off Emma. "_Normal."_

Erik heard a – very un-ladylike – snort come from behind them, and he turned to eye the perpetrator as she sailed up to him, running her hard, cold fingers affectionately through his hair. "So, what do we have to do? Paint you a fresco?"

Azazel chuckled at her and tugged lightly on his elbow. "As your friends and guardians, we insist you go to that festival."

Erik could feel his eyes widen to the size of plates and hope bloom in his chest. "_Me?"_ He asked incredulously, which was met with a high, trilling laugh before Emma quipped

"No. The Pope. Of _course_ _you!" _Erik could _feel_ the waves of 'Oh-My-Lord-Emma' roll off Janos's metal. His dour mood lifted slightly.

"It's a great way to gain new experiences." He said, in a hurry to fix whatever he thought Emma had broken. "Study indigenous folk music and-" Emma cut him off with a wave of her shiny hand.

"You can play 'Dunk the Monk!'" She squealed excitedly. Erik couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, and Janos's resulting stare of utter disbelief.

"Do you _ever_ say anything appropriate?" He asked; Erik might of thought him angry if he couldn't feel the amusement buzzing through his body.

"I do it just for you, Sugar." She purred, taking Erik's now unresisting hand and hauling him to his feet.

Azazel just laughed at his younger friend's antics and patted Erik's arm. "Take it from an old spectator," he murmured. "Life's not a spectator sport. If watching is all you're going to do, you're going to watch your life go by without you." Erik hesitated, torn between longing to go – so much longing – and obeying his master.

Seeing the conflicting emotions on his face, Emma dropped her 'lets cheer up Erik' act and said softly, "Yeah, you're human. We're not. We're just… Part of the scenery."

Erik opened his mouth to protest when Janos broke in solemnly. "Yet, if you chisel us, will we not scratch? If you dampen us, will we not get wet?" They all stared at him with wide eyes until he scratched at the back of his neck, a little embarrassed.

Seemingly tired with his reluctance, Emma tugged him along to his drawer of clean clothes. "All you need is a clean shirt and a new pair of pants…"

Erik stopped her and took her hands in his, making her face him. "I- Thank you – I really appreciate everything you're doing but… You're forgetting one very important thing."

Emma stared at him with disbelief before exclaiming "What?!"

Erik dropped back into his seat and hung his head in his hands. "My master. Shaw." He mumbled, feeling his mood sink impossibly lower. There was no way he could go.

There was a moment of charged silence, and Erik could feel the static hum through his metal friends. "When he says 'forbidden from ever leaving the bell tower', does he mean _ever,_ ever?" Azazel asked, his copper brow furrowing over his eyes as he contemplated the situation.

Erik nodded vigorously, his eyes alive with melancholy. "_Never_ ever!" He explained, "And he _hates_ The Feast of Fools. He'd be furious if I asked to go…" Erik pulled his hands down his face and winced at the thought.

There was a collective raise of eyebrows from his friends as looked at each other, coming up with the same idea all at once. Turning back to him, Emma said with a wicked smile. "And who said you've got to ask?" Erik nearly choked, his eyes widening to the size of moons.

"Oh no." He said firmly, shaking his head. No, that would never happen.

"You can sneak out…"

"It's just one afternoon." Janos agreed, nodding his head.

"I can't-" Erik protested.

"He'll never know you were gone!" Emma said, scoffing.

"But what if I got caught?" He groaned, making Janos chuckle.

"It's better to ask forgiveness than permission." Mused the weather beaten man.

"He might _see_ me!" Erik argued, weakly. He could feel his resolve wavering by the minute and hope started to burn in his chest, making him feel a pleasant glow inside.

"Then you wear a disguise!" Emma was nearly jumping up and down on the spot with excitement. "What Shaw doesn't know can't hurt you!"

"Ignorance is bliss." Janos cut in again, causing Emma to reach for him and ruffle the delicate strands of his metal hair. An odd strangled noise came from his throat, and he threw her off, flattening his locks with a petulant scowl.

"Nobody wants to be cooped up here forever." Azazel concluded quietly, still by Erik's side. Erik looked across his copper skin, marvelling – again – at his very existence.

He wanted to do this. He _needed _to do this. The call of The Festival this year was stronger than it had ever been in his whole 24 years on the Earth. Erik felt like there was something just waiting for him to discover it. The only thing that was stopping him was Shaw. He didn't want to disappoint him, and going to this festival would probably be the best way to do just that.

It took a moment of internal battling, but finally, like iron conceding to the pull of a magnet, he caved.

"You're right." He said, excitement filling his voice. He leapt to his feet and let his exhilaration shine through. He strode forward, looking over his shoulder at his friends, rather than where he was going. "I'll get cleaned up. I'll stroll down those stairs. I'll march through the doors and-" Erik stopped when he collided with a tall figure.

Scurrying backwards, he saw that his friends had all frozen, pretending to be statues.

"Good morning, Erik." Shaw drawled, watching him with stern eyes.

"Go-Good morning, Master." Erik stammered. He prayed that Shaw hadn't heard what he was planning. Suddenly, his earlier concerns seemed far more justified.

"Pray, boy, whom are you talking to?" He asked, his eyes scanning the room for any intruders.

He gulped before replying. "My… My friends." There was a spark of cruel amusement in Shaw's eyes.

"I see… and your friends; what are they made of?" Erik bowed his head, looking contrite – Emma, Janos and Azazel always made sure Shaw could not see they were alive, and therefore not know the extent of his power. They figured it might scare him into sending him away. Erik knew he wouldn't do that though; Shaw loved him.

"Metal, Sir." He mumbled, tracing a circle on the floorboards with his toes. He felt a pair of strong fingers wrapping around his jaw and bringing his face upwards.

"And can metal talk?" He asked, as if he were speaking to a child. Sometimes, the way Shaw spoke to him rankled; but Erik never mentioned anything – he knew Shaw was only doing it to better him, and Erik appreciated that.

"No, Sir." He whispered, looking at him with repentant eyes. After a moment of Shaw's cool searching gaze, his jaw was released and he received a "Good boy."

Turning with a flourish, Shaw made his way over to the poorly carved wooden table and dropped a lunch basket on it.

"Now. Lunch." He announced. Erik rushed to retrieve Shaw's fancy plate and tall silver chalice whilst fetching his own beaten, wooden ones. Shaw believed very highly in status. A peasant would not eat on the same crockery as a king.

Shaw poured wine into both their cups whilst he left Erik to split the bread and cheese between them. Shaw watched him with a critical eye, before reaching into his robe and pulling out a small book.

"Now," he drawled, "Shall we review your alphabet?"

Erik nodded enthusiastically, eager to please. Shaw used an alphabet system – where he read out letters and Erik spouted back the first word that came to mind that started with said letter – to determine whether all of Erik's thoughts were holy and clean. If his thoughts were that of a heathen, Shaw always said, then he would never better himself.

"A?"

This didn't take much thought. "Abomination."

"B?"

"Blasphemy."

"C?" This one was a little more difficult – his first thought was copper, but he was sure Shaw would dislike that one.

"C-c-contrition." Erik stammered; worried Shaw would sense his hesitation.

"D?"

"Damnation?" He said it like a question.

"E?"

"Eternal Damnation!"

"Good." He approved, taking another sip of his drink. "F?"

"Festival." Erik said without thinking. There was a choking sound on the other side of the table. Erik looked up startled to see Shaw's eyes burning into his own.

"Excuse me?" He asked, his voice sounded lethal.

Realising his mistake, he gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. "Forgiveness!" He corrected himself quickly, chagrin and guilt strong on his features.

"You were planning on going to the festival." It wasn't a question; Shaw already knew just by looking at Erik's face. His voice was quiet and disappointed – it pulled at Erik's stomach, making him feel even more shameful for even considering it. But he wanted to go so much.

"Its just that…" He said imploringly, following Shaw as he got up and walked towards the balcony where Erik was watching the festivities just moments ago. "You go every year."

Shaw sounded scandalised that he had even made that comment. "_I _am a public official; I _must _go! But I don't enjoy a moment of it!"

Erik followed him out onto the parapet, listening to him with his head hanging as he growled, "Thieves and hustlers and the dregs of humankind all mixed together in a shallow drunken stupor."

"I didn't mean to upset you master." He mumbled, stopping in the doorway and looking guiltily at his feet. There was a heavy sigh and a finger placed under his chin. The finger pulled his face up to look at Shaw's.

"Of course you didn't." Relief flooded Erik's expression, and Shaw's hand moved to rest on his shoulder.

"Erik, can't you understand? When your heartless mother abandoned you because of what you are, anyone else would have drowned you. Is this to be my thanks for taking you in and raising you as my son?" Erik shook his head, repentant.

"No, Master." A hard edge came into Shaw's eyes, and Erik couldn't quite understand what it meant.

"Oh, Erik. You have no idea what it is like out there. The cruelty and vile nature of the mutants only serve to slander your name. I cannot have that. I know what its like, Erik. I know." He dropped his hand and strolled over to the wall, looking down to the masses gathered in the square. They looked so small, Erik thought.

"The world, Erik, is cruel and wicked. It's I alone whom you can trust in this whole city. I will not let them harm you if you just do as I say. I am your only friend. I and I alone, teach you, and provide food, drink and clothes for you. It is _only _I who can look upon you without fear. How can I protect you, boy, unless you always stay in here?" He sighed and gazed up at the stone walls of the tower with a cold stare.

Looking back at Erik, he continued. "Remember what I taught you, Erik?" Erik nodded, sadness filling his chest. Despite his answer, Shaw chose to remind him.

"You are an abomination of nature. What you can do is not natural and people _fear_ it, _despise_ it. You would be persecuted and burned with the Witches and demons of this society if I did not protect you. Do you understand that?" Erik nodded again, his eyes cast downwards, feeling stabs of anger and grief in his heart. He would give _anything_ to be normal. Anything.

"And you are ugly." He continued, "These are crimes for which the world shows little pity." Shaking his head he said bitterly, "You do not comprehend."

But Erik did understand, he understood how the world looked at him despite his rigorous attempts to better himself; he would always be a monster.

"You are my one defender." He whispered to Shaw, trying to convey that he _did _understand and that he was grateful beyond words for his kindness.

"Out there they will revile you as a monster." Erik nodded, agreeing with them wholeheartedly.

"I _am_ a monster."

Shaw ignored him, preferring to continue with his speech. "Out there they will hate and scorn and jeer." Erik nodded again. "If you understand, then why invite their calumny and consternation?" When Erik's only answer was to bow his head further until his chin rested on his chest, his expression becoming more and more pained, he repeated, "Stay in here. Be faithful to me, and grateful to me."

Erik murmured, "I am." So quietly, he was unsure whether Shaw had actually heard him.

"Do as I say, and stay in here and I can protect you. It is only in here I can do that. Do you understand?" He asked, his voice silky.

Erik nodded, breathing in a ragged breath before saying quietly, "You're good to me master. I am sorry." Shaw hummed and turned away, leaving Erik on the balcony.

"You are forgiven." He said without turning around, "But remember, Erik, _this_," He said, gesturing at the vast bell tower, "is your sanctuary."

The door clicked quietly behind him as he left. Turning back to the festival, his sighed. "My sanctuary." He repeated mournfully.

Safe behind the stone parapets in his drafty tower, he gazed at the people down below him. All his life he'd watched them as he'd hid up here alone upon Shaw's demand, just watching them, observing them, hungry for their histories, their stories.

He'd memorized their faces over the last twenty-four years, watching their lives and their routines. He knew them as they would never know him. The figurines he'd created over the years were all small iron doppelgangers of some of the people in the square who caught his eye, or who he always saw there.

He'd wondered how it would feel to be those people, or how it would feel to pass a day, not above them, but part of them.

He gazed at the dazzling blue sky, and brought his hands up to his chest, twisting them into a fist, into a prayer.

He wanted to be out there, in the sun with all the others. He wanted to taste the morning, the fresh bread from the bakery, and the water from the well. Everything.

"Give me one day out there, all I ask is one. I'll hold it forever in my memories and my heart. I promise." He wanted to do what they did, be one of them for just a day. Only a day. "What I'd give… What I'd dare… Just to live for one day with them would be… phenomenal."

Unclasping his hands, he sprung onto the wall and climbed down onto the carvings that hung over the square; they had served well as ladders and pathways to every unexplored nook and cranny of Notre Dame. They were his, and his alone. The thought that he might fall had never occurred to him.

Pausing on a tiny ledge he leaned into the empty air, nothing holding him but his hands on the stone. He spied the familiar figures of the people who lived in the city; millers, weavers, shop owners, merchants, their wives and children through the roofs and gables all gathered to watch the party of magicians, dancers, musicians and various other performers and circus acts that had gathered in the city to celebrate the day. His desire to be down there was even stronger.

Closing his eyes and letting the wind blow his hair around his face, he whispered, "If I was in their skin, I'd treasure every moment." He imagined it, for just a moment. He was strolling through the square, his head held high, nodding at the baker as he passed, watching the street performers with delight as they showed off their tricks.

"Just one day and then I swear I'd be content with my share. I won't resent or anguish. I could be old and bent and I wouldn't care. If I'd just spent one day out there."

Closing his eyes, he let himself drop from the carvings. Exhilaration bloomed in his chest as he fell, his cheeks stinging from the wind whipping at his body. Falling though the sky, he cast his mind out to the metal saints below him. He smiled in satisfaction as St Paul reached and plucked him out of midair.

oOo

Charles sat with his back against the wall, plucking thoughts and feelings out of the minds of people passing him, trying to determine which of them would be most likely to stop and watch.

He spotted a child walking by, they were always eager to be entertained, and he smiled brightly. Springing lithely from the ground he murmured to Raven who sat on the wall he was leaning against, "Show time, Darling." Sighing, she dropped from the wall, her blonde curls bouncing and assumed her most welcoming grin.

Charles huffed his amusement at her and turned to the approaching child. "Hey there, Jim. You want to see a trick?" Charles called. The boy stopped in his tracks and turned to him, his eyes wary.

"How did you know my name?" He asked, despite his caution, his thoughts were alight with the excitement of the unknown. Always so eager, Charles chuckled to himself.

"I'm a mind reader, Jim! I can know anything that you are thinking when you think it. It's a tricky skill to learn and you need lots and lots of practice. Just now for example, you have lost your mother in the crowd of the festival and don't know where to find her. After I show you my trick, I can help you find her if you like?" He offered, ignoring Raven's thought of _'are you crazy, Charles?' _

The boy, barely seven years old, looked at him with wonder and nodded excitedly.

"Thank you, Sir!" He breathed; his eyes alight with gratitude for this strange helpful man. Charles was a sucker for helping people, it had got him into trouble more times than he bothered to remember, being a mutant, people never thought he was trustworthy, and despite this, he always fought to be trusted.

He'd lost count of how many days in the stocks he'd had so far.

"This is my friend, Raven." He introduced to the boy, who shook her hand willingly. "She's going to help me with my trick. As well as a mind reader, I am a magician, and I'm going to make Raven here turn into a monkey. How does that sound?" The boy's eyes lit up and he murmured shyly.

"I've never seen a monkey in real life before." Charles positively beamed, his face lighting up excitedly.

"Oh, then you'll love this!" He swooped down and picked up a large square of red silk and prepared to throw it over Raven's head. "May I?" He inquired brightly. She rolled her eyes as they turned a beastly yellow as she prepared to change.

"Be my guest." She muttered. Charles deposited the silk on her head before turning to the boy. Charles didn't like this bit, but he had to make money somehow didn't he?

"Now, for this trick to work, I need a coin to give to God as a sacrifice for using this magic. Do you have a coin?" The boy nodded and rooted through his pockets for a small piece of silver, taking it out and placing it in Charles' palm. Charles bowed and slid the coin into his pocket.

"Thank you, my friend. Now, here we go." He faced his palms to where Raven was stood, looking a little silly with the silk over her head. He murmured a few random words in Latin and watched as Raven utilised her mutation.

The boy gasped as the figure under the silk shrunk, Charles played with his mind a little, making his anticipation more pronounced, and his excitement more palpable. Whisking off the fabric, he revealed Raven, now small and hairy of the ground looking up at the boy with amber monkey eyes.

The boy laughed, delighted, turning to Charles. "Can I stroke her?" He asked timidly. Chuckling, Charles gestured to Raven on the ground.

"Why don't you ask her?" He said kindly. The boy's eyes widened and knelt in front of ape-Raven.

"Hello…" He murmured, grinning with ecstasy as Raven held out her arms to be hugged. Giggling, the boy wrapped his skinny arms around her and held her, cooing and stroking her silky head.

"Jimmy!" Came a shout from behind them. Automatically, Charles reached out with his mind and winced when he came across a fuming, panicked mother. "Get back here at once! What have I told you about running off? Get away from them, they're street performers; they will rob you blind!" Charles turned to her and smiled his brightest, toothiest smile – it was the smile that made him seem years younger - and said jovially, despite his irritation.

"I was just showing Jim here my monkey. She's harmless, really. They became fast friends, don't you worry, Mrs. Hampshire." He laughed at her stunned look.

"H-how did you know my name?" She said with wide eyes. The little boy got off the floor, a wide grin splitting his features.

"He's a mind-reader, mother! And a magician! Raven used to be a person!" He exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the monkey on the ground. The mother narrowed her eyes and grabbed her boy's shoulders, attempting to steer him away as fast as she could.

"Bye, bye, Raven!" The boy shouted, "Thank you, Charles!" Charles chuckled and sighed affectionately after the sweet lad. Charles loved children, there was always so much to teach them, they were so eager to be entertained, so eager to learn. If he'd had his way, he'd become a teacher; but known mutants were not allowed to have jobs, and unfortunately, he'd made it all too clear that he was different when he was a boy.

Besides, he was such a desperate show off. So, in a way, this pass-time suited him nicely.

Charles sensed a ripple in Raven's mind as she changed back into her human form, and he gazed at her warmly as she glared at him.

"A monkey? Really?" She protested, her mouth twisting into an adorable pout.

"It was his favourite animal!" He defended, shrugging.

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "Softie."

Chuckling, he moved to sit in his previous spot.

Charles' father was never a fan of his abilities, but out of his duties as a paternal figure, he had put up with his son on the basis that he could keep his abilities a secret. So, on his father's request, Charles had done just that. At least until he got to the age of fourteen when - at a party they'd been throwing in celebration for his father's tailoring business reaching a new high – Charles had met a girl.

Being fourteen, foolishly headstrong and arrogant, he tried to impress this girl in the only way he knew how - by reading her mind in front of about seventy other people. Which, of course, was when his father kicked him out.

On his second day alone, sleeping under the docks, Charles had met Raven. She had wandered over, blue skinned and completely naked, and stolen his blanket.

They were friends almost immediately.

Chuckling at the memory, he patted her knee as she resumed her seat above him. Charles set out a beaten hat on the floor that was filled with coins; sometimes, people threw coins in their direction, thinking they were beggars. Maybe Charles _sometimes_ messed with their heads to get them to cough up but, that was only when money was especially tight.

Looking up at Raven from his seat he suggested innocently, "You know, you could change into a monkey and do some tricks for more coin?"

She gave him the dirtiest look imaginable before growling, "I'm not your dancing monkey, pal."

A woman's loud fretting interrupted Charles' thoughts; it took Charles only a moment to figure out whose mind the rambling was coming from.

_Oh, God, where is it? I am lost again. I can't believe this._ It wasn't long before Charles' ears found the voice that the mind belonged to. "Why couldn't you have asked for directions, Alex? Is it _really_ so hard?" Charles' mouth quirked into a smirk at the boy's floundering. He was barely out of his teens and had big dreams of joining the army and becoming a war hero; instead he was playing bodyguard for a Lady of Court.

"Sorry ma'am," He murmured, twisting the map this way and that. "Its embarrassing to ask…" He trailed off, his face chagrined.

The woman came into view then; she was quite beautiful, in a plain sort of way – but then, Charles saw the beauty in everyone – She was bold, headstrong and sick of society. She wanted to be out there, helping the poor.

After a bit of harmless snooping, what stuck out for Charles, was that she was pro-mutant, despite the fact she had never come face to face with one in her life. It was refreshing; it wasn't often Charles came across one of those.

The woman sighed and gazed down the street, taking in the little shops and dirty, ragamuffin children running and shouting at the top of their lungs.

Charles could almost pinpoint the exact moment the woman spotted him; there was a distinct thought of _Oh. Well, hello there, handsome._ Followed by various flickers of _attractive-poor-dirty-blue eyes-hair-pretty_. Charles grinned. She strode towards him, leaving her bodyguard (poor boy) confused and miserable, trying to keep up with her.

She dropped a coin into his hat, earning her a dazzling grin, and he tired not to chuckle as it triggered a stutter in her thought processes, followed by a wave of _Wow-teeth-lips-smile-kiss-laugh-wish_-_want-beautiful _through her mind.

It always amused him when someone found him attractive, the devastation he could inflict on some poor sod made him feel powerful and untouchable. He refused as much as possible to play with the strands of people's thoughts most of the time, on the grounds that it was invasive and immoral; but he paid a lot more attention to not doing it when something like this happened - Unless they made unwelcome advances. Only then would he allow some mind-bending to rid the person of those thoughts.

She smiled shyly at him, and opened her mouth a greeting on the tip of her tongue, when Raven hissed from the wall and leapt down, grabbing Charles by the arm and attempting to make a run for it.

Instinctively, Charles' mind reached out in search of a threat, and was faced with the thoughts of two malicious guards, intent on harassing them. Leaping from his seat on the ground, he scooped up his hat and cursed when all the coins spilled out. As he bent down to collect them, a pair of shadows fell over him.

"Alright, mutant, where'd you get the money?" He snarled, attempting to snatch the hat out of Charles' fingers.

Pulling the hat out of his reach, he replied haughtily, "For your information, I earned it."

The guard behind him scoffed and grabbed his wrist. "Stole it, more like."

Growling, Charles hissed, "Well you'd know a lot about stealing." He said, rifling through the man's recent memories and projecting a scene of him bullying a butcher to give him meat free of charge.

The guard's eyes narrowed and he pulled Charles closer, his voice dangerous. "A telepath, huh? Maybe a trip to the stocks will put an end to your tricks." Charles struggled and kicked against the men's grips, about to reach into their minds when a furious Raven crashed into the man holding him and placed a well-aimed kick in the other's groin.

Leaving the remaining money, Charles sprinted down the street after Raven, his arm stinging where the men had held him. Suddenly, Raven grabbed said arm and pulled him down behind a wall. Grumbling at her but looking over the top at Raven's behest, Charles watched as the woman's bodyguard stuck out his leg as the recovered guards sprinted past, causing them to fall into a dirty puddle.

Raven turned and grinned at him, wiggling one eyebrow. _She totally fancied you. _She thought, her thoughts smug.

He rolled his eyes, not bothering to tell her she was right.

oOo

Moira watched with satisfaction as her bodyguard, Alex stood above the two guards, smirking. That satisfaction quickly turned to annoyance as one jumped to his feet and yanked out his dagger, a snarl twisting his features.

"I'll teach you a lesson, punk." He threatened as he approached her friend waving the knife dangerously. Now, that's just rude, she thought with disapproval.

"Excuse me?" She demanded with her most authoritative voice, "What the hell is going on?" The two men looked at her, perplexed, before the one on the floor gasped in recognition.

"Lady MacTaggert! What a surprise!" He exclaimed, jumping up and bowing – more like it.

"Quite." She drawled, amused at their snivelling. "Seeing as you two seem to be taking an interest in my boy here, I suggest you take us to where we want to go. You can make friends on the way." Alex shot her an odd look.

Chuckling at the guards tripping over themselves to please her, stammering their pathetic apologies and bowing over and over.

"Take me to the Palace of Justice." She commanded. The men straightened and offered his arm to escort her, which she didn't take.

It took them ten minutes of shuffling through the unusually busy squares and marketplaces to reach the Palace of Justice - the clamour to join the festival permeating every street in Paris, causing delays and jostling amongst the excited townsfolk.

Moira couldn't blame them; once this dratted meeting with Lord Shaw had concluded, she fully intended to join the festivities.

The palace itself was huge, a large creepy looking castle which virtually loomed over everything. Moira felt a cold shiver trapeze down her spine and she pulled her coat tighter around her. She felt as if the bleak stone walls were watching her. It was tremendously unnerving.

The inside was just as bleak; cavernous undecorated corridors with large iron doors lining the walls. Alex instinctively moved closer to her, as if to protect her from the building itself.

It wasn't long until Moira began to hear screams, cries for help, and the terrible cracking sound of steel-tipped leather against flesh. Cringing, she welcomed Alex's hand on her arm as they were escorted deeper into the belly of the Palace.

Soon they came across an empty room overlooking the square outside Notre Dame. It was the largest, busiest in Paris; so naturally, it held the main body of the festivities. Moira looked up at the bell tower, casting a critical gaze across its architecture. It really was a beautiful construction, and she found the combination of the old stone saints and the newer, more decorative metal statues fascinating. It was not an idea that she had ever come across before.

Her thoughts were cut off by the door clicking open behind them, and a tall man with a dangerously sickly sweet smile and cold eyes which seemed to flicker with a strange energy strode in.

"Ah. Lady Moira MacTaggert. I see you are already here. Excellent." He didn't even acknowledge Alex's existence, which struck Moira as slightly bizarre. Before she could make introductions however, the man – Shaw – had marched onto the long balcony overlooking the square.

"You have come to Paris at her darkest hour, I'm afraid my Lady. It will take a strong hand to stop the weak from being so easily misled."

Moira had come to Paris to claim her right as the mayoress, which was a title which had only ever once before been held by a woman. She was eager to learn more about the problems the city was facing, so she could fix them, and prove once and for all that women were just as capable as men.

"Misled, Sir?" She inquired, curiosity burning in her voice.

Shaw grinned almost maniacally and pointed at the square below them. "Mutants, my dear. Their blood-thirsty quest for power and heathen ways inflame the people's lowest instincts, and they _must be stopped._" The last words came out as a hiss. Moira was slightly offended by his racism but – ever the diplomat – decided against saying anything.

Shaw smiled darkly at her silence, "I am to be your advisor. Any of your decisions must go through me. If I fear you are failing your post, then, well." He said, almost modestly. He didn't finish the sentence, though the threat was implied.

Standing a little straighter, affronted by his insolence she inquired in a steely voice, "Are you saying that I came all the way from Toulouse to make sure fortune-tellers and palm-readers are captured?" She thought back to the attractive blue-eyed man in the square. What would become of him if he were to fall into the hands of this man?

Shaw shook his head, a sad smile twisting his mouth. He looked positively dangerous as he glanced at the wall, hovering his hand over four ants scurrying around on the grey stone. "For twenty years I have been taking care of the mutants; one by one." He hissed the last three letters, an evil gleam in his eyes as he crushed the ants under his fingers.

Moira watched with quiet horror as he took hold of the stone and lifted it, revealing thousands of ants swarming where it once sat. "But still," he continued, "they multiply." He sighed softly and replaced the stone. "I think they have a safe haven somewhere in this very city. A nest, if you will." He gave a short derisive laugh, "They call it The Court of Miracles."

Moira raised an eyebrow; she too had heard this rumour, but it was just that – a rumour. Nobody, save the mutants, knew where it was or if it even existed. She struggled not to laugh at this man's paranoia.

"And what do you suggest _I _do about it?" She asked, a note of disbelief sliding into her voice. Shaw gave her an evil smile, and turned back to the slab hiding the ants nest. Lifting it, he flipped it over and sought out her gaze. He watched her for a split second before smashing down the stone with a loud _crack_, crushing the bugs underneath.

When his eyes found hers again, there was a perverse, delighted gleam there. Moira's mouth pinched, and was aware her eyes had turned slightly hostile. "You have made your point quite vividly, Sir." She watched as Shaw smirked.

"You know, I _like _you, Lady MacTaggert." His grin grew more pronounced. "Shall we?" he crooned, gesturing towards the festival. She sighed when she realised that would mean she had to spend the festival with this cruel looking man.

Well, she thought, at least he'll have good seats.


	3. Chapter 2

Erik perched on St. Luke's head and gazed down at the festival thriving below him. The amount of people running amok in the square intimidated him, and he had a momentary flicker of doubt as his heart raced with part excitement, part fear. Should he really be doing this?

No. No. He shook his head to dislodge the hesitation; he'd decided now. He was going to that festival whether Shaw gave him permission or not. _Its just one day_, he thought, justifying it to himself once more.

Just one day.

Collecting himself, he pulled his hooded cloak further around himself to shield his face, before manipulating the metal in the statue below him. He felt it shiver and sigh under his feet as four thin bands of alloy stripped from the statue and wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles.

_Forgive me._ He thought towards the effigy as he used its metal to lower himself to the ground. When his feet finally touched the cobbled streets, he found himself in an abandoned alleyway behind the masses of people watching the festival.

He scanned the backs of the spectators, searching for a sign that his descent had been noticed, but luck had smiled on him; he was safe.

Gently wringing the steel bands from his limbs, he laid them at the foot of St. Luke, silently vowing to return the metal to its rightful place when he returned from his excursion.

Spotting a gap in the heads, he slid into the crowd without anyone noticing, and watched with wide eyes as a procession of men and women in black, hooded robes – not unlike the one he was currently wearing – marched into the square.

He heard a voice call out from the depths of the group, loud and exuberant, completely at odds with the advancing assembly.

"Come one!" The voice shouted, "Come all! Close the churches and the schools; it's the day for breaking rules! Come! Come and join the Feast of Fools!" A garishly dressed figure burst out of the wall of cloaks with a dramatic flourish. Erik felt excitement skip between his lungs as the man rushed forwards, a beaming smile splitting his face and his ginger hair flying.

A cheer rose in the crowds, when everyone, all at once, shouted and bawled their ecstasy into the chilly Paris air. Erik's blood rushed around his body, and his chest felt light and giddy. Within seconds, he was matching the ginger's wild grin; though he was certain he looked silly and stilted – too wide and too much teeth due to lack of practice.

Erik watched in delight as the cloaked figures threw off their garments, following hot on the ginger man's heels as they did different, but getting gradually more exciting, dangerous and wonderful, tricks.

Erik _oohed_ and _aahhed _along with the crowdat the woman juggling fireballs that just hovered inches above her open palms. He gasped in astonishment as an invisible man tugged on his robe before re-appearing, a wide smile splitting his features. Watching wide-eyed at the man with blades protruding from his knuckles as he paraded around, with a smug, but slightly irritated look on his face.

These people were all mutants, just like him, he knew that – but Shaw had told him they were not like him, but that they were evil and manipulative, screwing you over at ever chance they got. But seeing them like this, in their element, entertaining the masses with their unique gifts, made Erik wonder if Shaw was actually mistaken. They all looked so genuine and happy. Well, except the man with blades – he just looked… Wolfish.

Staring around in wonderment at the business around him, he didn't notice at first the ginger approaching him, a mischievous grin painting his face. When Erik finally spotted him, he panicked and was overwhelmed with the desire to escape; if the young man got too close, he'd be able to see under the hood. He'd be caught.

Erik backed up quickly, desperate to avoid the man catching a glimpse of his face. Balking, he stumbled over his feet and pushed through the crowd, trying to lose his interest. To his horror, it seemed to have the opposite effect; his pace increased, and he began running after Erik.

Erik, now close to an outright panic attack, started to rush through the crowd with abandon. Of course, in his haste, Erik was not paying attention to where he was placing his feet, and as he rounded a corner next to a large changing tent, he didn't notice the (already thoroughly drunk) man sprawled helplessly in his own vomit, and his feet caught on the man's hip.

Gasping, Erik tumbled through the tent flap, flailing and grabbing anything he could reach. His hands found fabric, smooth and warm under his fingertips and he grasped automatically, his heart thudding at a dangerous pace as it failed to catch his fall. The flimsy fabric tore and pooled around his body, tangling in his legs and binding them together, rendering him unable to move freely from the floor.

Groaning through the pounding in his head where it had connected with the floor, he reached and took hold of a wooden plank above him to pull himself up. Out of nowhere, there was a shout of "No!" from behind him, and he turned to sound, his face a mask of surprise.

Things seemed to move in slow motion then.

The first thing Erik registered was there - stood behind him with his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face - was a man in the tent with him.

The second thing was that the plank he had leaned his weight on had moved and dislodged a heavy steel box, which teetered right on the edge of falling _directly above the man's head._

Erik's focus suddenly zeroed down into a few vital seconds.

The box tipped and began to fall, plummeting towards the stranger's head at a frightening speed. Instinct took over Erik and he watched in surprise as his own hand shot out and enveloped the box in his power, breaking its fall and stopping it from crushing the man's skull.

Just as soon as it had slowed, time sped up again.

Panic overtook Erik as he realised exactly what situation he was in.

Not only was he laid in a tangled heap in the middle of some stranger's tent, hovering a box in mid-air; his hood had also fallen down and he was now staring directly into a pair of piercing blue eyes that gazed back with an intensity Erik had never seen before.

In a desperate last ditch attempt to… Well, Erik didn't really know; everything was already ruined beyond repair – he threw his hood back up and turned his face away from the man, his cheeks burning with shame.

"Are you alright?" Asked the man, concern evident in his voice, which sounded infinitely closer to Erik than he was comfortable with. Flinching further into his hood, he squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would stop the man from seeing. "Here, are you hurt? Let me see."

A gasp tore out of Erik's chest as he felt five sturdy fingers grasp the hem of his hood. "N-n-No!" He stuttered weakly as the man prised his shroud gently, but firmly, from his face.

What Erik was faced with knocked all the air out of his lungs. The box dropped with a thud to the ground behind them.

Those eyes again. They were staring unwaveringly, and fearlessly into his; and the intensity of the gaze had surely reduced Erik's gut into something resembling a mushy goop.

The face those eyes were set in could only be described as Angelic; his skin was pale, with a dusting of light freckles peppering his nose and cheekbones. His lips were impossibly red and moist, each corner curved up into a charming little smile. Freshly washed hair flopped messily across his forehead, still slightly damp. The whole effect gave him a dishevelled, boyish appeal.

"There!" He said, sounding like a man far too pleased. "Ah. See? No harm done." A warm smile lit up the boy's face, and it had Erik stuttering like he suddenly wasn't so sure he knew how to speak.

"I-I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to I-" The man cut him off with a _tsk_ and an affectionate shake of the head.

Wait. Affectionate?

"I know, my friend, I know. Just watch out for the unconscious; they like to lay down in the most awkward places."

Yes, somehow he'd figured that-Wait, what?

"How did you-?" The boy chuckled, taking his arm and pulling him to his feet. He stood a good few inches shorter than Erik, which struck him as slightly odd. Erik would have expected him to be taller, what with the confidence he could feel rolling off him in waves, but he wasn't; and he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

"And keep the hood down, you have nothing to hide here. It's The Feast of Fools! Here we all show who we really are and nobody takes a second glance. You won't be spotted." He winked.

The boy's accuracy _astounded _him.

"I will see you around, my friend." He said cheerfully as he lead a dumbstruck Erik to the tent flaps. Erik looked at him for a moment more, examining him with an emotion that felt very similar to awe.

It was then, looking into that face for answers that the thought flashed across his mind. _He's_ _beautiful._

He turned his head in embarrassment, not looking at the man as he strode out of the tent, his face a stubborn frown.

He had only taken three steps when the man called out behind him.

"Oh and, Erik!" He stopped dead in his tracks.

'_Nice trick._'

Erik started and spun around to stare at the boy; but he was gone. Trembling, Erik slid through the crowds to a haystack where he sat with his head in his hands.

That boy's voice, it had been in his head. How did he _do_ that? The unspoken approval still ran through his thoughts. It only just struck him then (and really he should have known it earlier, as he knew other mutants existed) that he really was not alone anymore. He couldn't fathom the emotion that burned through his veins at that thought.

Erik heard the wheels of a carriage draw close, and he glanced up for a second, only to be met with complete horror. There, riding straight towards him, or rather, to a raised podium with a throne behind him, was his own master, Shaw.

"_Scheiße!" _He cursed (Having been born in Germany, Erik had made a point of speaking the language whenever possible).

Swearing under his breath, he dived behind the haystack, earning a few odd looks from members of the crowd. Thankfully, he remained – for the most part – unnoticed (at least by Shaw) and Erik watched as his master took his seat, gesturing towards the ginger man, who was now stood on his own podium, which connected to Shaw's via a thin runway.

Erik watched in fascination from his hiding place as the young man opened his mouth and let out such an unholy screech, that Erik was sure he felt all the metals as far away as Lyon quiver.

He realised that it was an attention gaining technique when the whole square stopped in their tracks and turned to stare at him, silent.

The man opened his mouth again and Erik prayed to God that he didn't make that – _noise _again. Thankfully, he did not, instead, shouting out in the same loud, enthusiastic voice he had used earlier.

"Come one! Come All! On this sixth of January, we gather today to engage in awe, excitement and laughter, together. As one!" The mutants all let out a hearty, exuberant cheer at that statement, hope and happiness that they were accepted just for once filtering into their voices. Erik never felt less alone.

"Come one! Come All!" He continued, "Hurry! Hurry! Here's your opening! See the mystery and romance!" He winked at a group of young women at the front of the crowd, who were giggling uselessly like the teenagers they were. "Come one! Come All! See the finest young man in France make magic that will enthral you all. Join our very own telepathic magician - Charles Francis Xavier!"

The boy. The boy. The boy.

It was him - the boy in the tent; the one who spoke into his mind.

Charles…

He watched as the young man's piercing blue gaze flickered to meet his for a fraction of a second, a wide, dazzling smile lighting his face as he almost danced onto the stage, his movements bouncy and excited.

A girl was with him, pale skinned, blonde and blue eyed. She seemed to be smiling at the boy's – Charles' - excitement, rather than her own. Skipping up beside the man, she pulled out a swirling piece of blue chiffon and tied it around his neck. It matched his eyes perfectly.

Gaping as he pecked a kiss on the girl's cheek, Erik watched as the young man reached into the audience and pulled a little girl onto the stage; she couldn't have been barely into her teens. Xavier placed two fingers to his temple and smiled, swaying slightly to the cheers of the audience.

His voice broadcasted into the minds of everybody, and he said without ever opening his mouth, _Do you want to see some magic? _He murmured into their minds. Gasps mingled with the cheering, creating a shivery excited sound across the air.

Smiling with boyish excitement, the man turned his attention to the girl he'd pulled to the stage. The girl grinned at something he said, and nodded. The man turned back to the crowd, saying indulgently, _How do you charming people feel about myself making this lovely girl disappear and reappear somewhere else?_

There was a roar of excitement from the spectators, and Erik couldn't help but be intrigued as the man closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels, as if blown away by their enthusiasm.

After a moment of just standing there, he opened his eyes and turned his clear blue gaze onto the girl, holding two fingers to his temple and his mouth curved into a fond smile.

All of a sudden, a loud _CRACK_ filled the air. Erik jumped, startled, and looked around in slight bewilderment as a few in the crowd ducked automatically, as if dodging an arrow.

In his confusion Erik didn't notice what had happened on stage until the voice of a young boy called out in awe, "She's gone!"

Collective gasps and murmurs ran through the crowd as people craned their necks, looking around the square for any sign of the girl. A low, almost intimate chuckle sounded in Erik's mind.

_Why don't you look at the rooftops, lovely audience?_ Xavier drawled in their heads, sounding almost smug.

The clamour raised in volume as people started to spot the girl, waving unharmed from the rooftop of the bakery. Erik's jaw dropped. Soon, the senseless noise turned into applause and cheering, and it took a matter of a few short moments before the crowd was roaring – which seemed impossible, but apparently wasn't – louder than they had been before.

Erik couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl sat on the roof; he just couldn't wrap his head around it. He knew that some amazing things happened at this festival, but he was gob smacked to have witnessed something as wondrous – as awe-inspiring as this.

_How?!_ - Was the question that screamed in his head. Looking back at the stage, his heart almost stumbled in his chest when he found Xavier's eyes trained on his own, staring directly at him, completely unabashed.

_A magician never reveals his secrets, my friend. _Somehow, Erik knew that that was meant just for him.

_Who _are _you? _Erik whispered tentatively into his own head. When the voice didn't reply, he tried to quell the flicker of disappointment in his gut – though he wasn't quite sure why it was even there in the first place.

Pursing his lips, he gazed back at the girl on the roof, contemplating, only blinking when she disappeared again, wisps of purplish smoke curling around the spot where she had just been.

Giving a calculating look back at the stage – where the telepath/magician was now helping the girl back into the audience – Erik mused over Charles Xavier. There was something inherently different about that man, though Erik couldn't figure out what. It was more a feeling. Erik had only really spent a lot of time with Shaw, but already it was absolutely clear that the two men were nothing alike.

Erik couldn't name the difference despite his efforts, as he continued to stare at the man as he interacted with the audience.

Frowning, he watched the blonde girl who'd placed the scarf around Xavier's neck take her place beside him; they looked at each other with an easy confidence that Erik had never seen before, and it had his head reeling.

Growling and shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts, he watched the rest of the show.

oOo

Charles loved this. The minds of so many people exalting with open wonderment at the abilities of those they shunned everyday; it made him think that they might have a chance to be accepted. Peace _could_ be an option.

Of course, there were some who spoiled it.

Charles never really hated anyone – he found that, as a rule, everyone (despite his own feelings towards them) had at least one or two redeeming qualities; and thus could not earn Charles' hate.

However, there was one man who this rule did not apply to. Sebastian Shaw's mind could only be described as a black hole; a swirling mass of demeaning, violent, debasing, disgusting thoughts all concealed under the guise of religion. He dreamed about the supremacy of people like him – white skinned, catholic, _human -_ The only beings 'worthy' for God's love.

That was what sickened Charles the most.

Standing on the stage, next to his – decidedly not human, naturally blue skinned, atheist – sister, Charles could feel the man's mind like a festering wound. It swirled and roiled with a loathing so strong, Charles struggled to block it out no matter how hard he tried.

If minds were like tapestries, Shaw's would be composed of the darkest, dirtiest colours known to man.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Charles turned towards Raven, speaking privately into her mind as she brought out the same silk they had used earlier. _Just like we practiced, Darling?_

She smirked, her eyes flashing amber for a spilt second, derision for the endearment filling her mind. _Just like we practiced._ She confirmed.

Laughing gently, he projected his mind out to the masses, wincing slightly when he connected with Shaw's. _How about a little more?_ More cheers, shouting and whistling – if only his powers were viewed with such awe on any other day.

He shook his head, concentrating on the job at hand. He whisked the silk out of Raven's hands and threw it over her, barely letting it settle, even for a second, before whipping it off again.

Gasps and waves of marvel rolled from the crowd as he revealed a transformed Raven; now looking decidedly male and dashing in a three-piece suit. Charles didn't let the audience linger; moving in a cycle of cover-reveal-pause, and he felt a growing swell of pride as he watched Raven shed and don various guises as easy as blinking.

All too soon, his repertoire of 'tricks' had run dry, meaning his slot was over and his left over buzz from the limelight quickly faded into boredom. Raven had run off with Angel (a lovely young lady with the most beautiful wings he'd ever seen) to chat about whatever girls chatted about (which he will admit he knew more about than most), their thoughts trailing behind them.

There was a great many disadvantages to hearing minds; this he had found out quickly into his manifestation. Now for example, he struggled to block the lurid thoughts of _hot-cute-love-sex-shirtless-pantless -oohsogood _(complete with disturbing imagery) radiating from the minds of his sister and her friend as they gushed about certain members of the opposite sex. (Mostly Logan. Lord, why was the thought _Logan_ always accompanied with inappropriate images?)

Despite being aware that he gorgeous in a rugged, wild kind of way, he did _not_ like having mind-pictures of his friend naked in his head, thank you very much Raven. Grunting, he threw up his mental walls and sulked.

The minds around him faded into a kind of off-key hum as he watched the stage darkly, the very same wild, handsome Logan slicing up watermelons with his adamantium claws, looking a little ridiculous – yet still frightening. Maybe it was the blades protruding from his knuckles.

Charles had met Logan a few years after meeting Raven, in a ditch somewhere North of Dijon. After a brief scare-fest (in which Logan had attempted to gut Charles), the clawed man had spun them tales of a safe-haven for mutants called The Court of Miracles; it was somewhere under the streets of Paris where people like them could live in relative harmony with their own kind, safe from human judgement.

They didn't quite get the welcome they were expecting. In fact upon reaching Paris, a trap lay, just waiting to be sprung, which they only just dodged with the help of Charles' telepathy.

If that weren't discouraging enough – instead of the hundreds of mutants waiting joyously with outstretched arms, they'd found at most twenty frightened people (who'd managed to escape the traps or had been lucky enough to live in the city when they'd manifested) scared and ashamed of who they were.

Charles and Logan had bonded to be close friends the moment they successfully smuggled their first mutant into the city.

_Charles_… His name crashed through his shields and settled directly in the centre of his mind. It was almost automatic the way he zeroed down of the stream of _whoishe-howdoeshedothat-blueeyes-fascinating-nicetrick-Charles-Charles-Charles_ that ran like quicksilver through a man's brain.

Ah, yes. Erik. An interesting mind, Charles mused as he listened in curiously on the steady gush of thought.

Unlike most, Erik's mind didn't run on one track - rather, a swirl of silver threads, warm and vibrant under his mental hands. He wasn't particularly a loud thinker, far from it in fact; but there was something there that made his mind glimmer like sunlight on steel, catching and holding Charles' attention and just _begging_ to dig deeper.

He could do it. But he wouldn't.

Privacy was a fallacy when it came to Charles; and despite trying to block out people's thoughts there were always things that trickled through. So, in an attempt to keep things fair, Charles never, ever, ever looked any deeper than a person's surface thoughts, unless he absolutely _had _to.

So, he could give in to his insatiable curiosity and delve into Erik's memories, or the section of his brain that made up his personality and quirks, just to see what made him tick.

He could. But he wouldn't.

And because he wouldn't, and he _shouldn't_, Charles dove out of Erik's mind with a bitter taste in his mouth. Sean was speaking to the audience again, so he trained his attention on that, stubbornly ignoring the curiosity burning the walls of his brain as it begged for just one peak into Erik's mind.

The ginger youth was practically jumping up and down on the stage as he announced the competition for the King of Fools. It was silly really; another attempt to integrate – find some humans with tricks, prove that they were not so different after all. But then again, being able to teleport or read minds was hardly like a card trick.

But the people enjoyed it every year – so who was he to judge?

Members of the audience started pushing nominees onto the stage, their minds awash with amusement, nervousness and excitement. After a lazy, cursory flick through the competitor's minds, Charles could taste disappointment on his tongue. The 'tricks' they had were nothing he hadn't seen a million times before - A card trick or a 'here-is-a-coin-I-will-make-it-disappear' act - nothing special.

Charles thought back to the box that had hovered almost gracefully above his head little more than an hour ago. Its fall had slowed seamlessly, without once wavering, showing a level of tight control Charles rarely saw in anyone other than himself or Raven. It was a beauty unparalleled to the measly trickery and illusions the people onstage could think up.

An idea popped itself neatly into Charles' head.

Grinning, he wove himself through the crowds to where he could sense Erik's mind, which was a welcome flash of steely intelligence in a sea of woolly, useless thoughts.

He wasn't facing Charles, and didn't know he was coming, which gave him a delightful few seconds to pause and admire the man, as he would have liked to in the tent when they first met.

He was tall and skinny, all hard lines and rough angles despite the odd discordant note of calm (no, not calm; Charles didn't need his telepathy to see the low simmering frustration bubbling below that strong exterior – _collected_) softness that carried in his mind and countenance. His face was now uncovered – Charles allowed himself a brief mental celebration at that, though why he would want to cover up _that _face he couldn't imagine – and Charles could properly examine that strong jaw and his perfect, clean shaven, not-a-hair-out-of-place look.

Smiling to himself, Charles walked boldly up behind the man and placed both hands onto his lower back and pushed, guiding him towards the stage. He struggled to hold back his chuckle as Erik's whole body jerked beneath his palms, surprise shooting from his mind like a battering ram. Sea green eyes drilled thoughtfully into his face as he – Charles noted with enthusiasm – allowed himself to be led, only pausing at the steps of the stage, confusion like a visible question mark above his head.

The crowd was still too loud to be heard above, so Charles planted the words directly into the man's brain.

_Trust me._

This caused Erik's eyes to widen, as slowly it dawned on him what Charles wanted him to do. There was a push of thoughts from Erik's mind as he attempted to communicate back – and the result was not entirely coherent.

_But-people-somany-ah-Shaw-seestageme-disobeyedhim-uh-eyesbluepretty-stopitErik-can'tbelieve-XavierCharlesCharles-wantmetodothis-dowhat-metal-penny-copper-silver-float-ah-ah-ah!_

An idea had formed in Erik's mind, a beautifully simplistic idea that Charles was positive the audience would adore just as much as he would.

He gave Erik an encouraging smile and commented lightly on his projection attempts. _A valiant effort, my friend, though you needn't push your __**thoughts**__ into my head. Try just words._

Erik's brow furrowed, his eyes remaining on Charles' face as he pushed him up the steps onto the stage.

_Words-words-try-ohmeingott-people-many-scheiße-Trywords-just-Aheh-Justwords-just. Words. Can-you-verdammt-hear?_

Charles sent an amused pulse of feeling along with his next words _Calm your mind._ _You are still not really coherent._

Erik visibly took a deep breath as he joined the row of people onstage, each waiting to show off.

_Calm-calm-calm-calm_, then there was another mouthful of air in Erik's lungs after ending his mantra. _Caaaaaalm-right. How-how-__**uh**_**. **_Is this better?_

Charles shot him a dazzling smile. _Much. Well done, my friend. _Charles received a shy grin in return.

_I shouldn't be doing this._ He thought, concern floating through the connection. _He might see._ Charles watched as Erik's eyes darted towards Shaw, unease obvious in his expression. Shaw was currently talking to a young woman beside him, paying little attention to the stage.

_What do you mean?_ Charles asked, baffled, the other man's unrest an uncomfortable weight between his lungs.

He didn't answer, instead watching Sean with an apprehensive gaze as he sidled up to him.

After a brief mumbled introduction from Erik, Sean shouted out. "Welcome onstage, Erik!"

There was a spike of surprise and anger through Charles' mind from somewhere to his left. He instantly clamped down on it, turning to investigate the source. Shaw was now staring with bugging eyes at the stage, his face purple with barely concealed rage and his hands clenched on the arms of his throne, knuckles a stark white.

As Erik began, levitating a small silver coin, Charles prodded at Shaw's mind to study the cause of his fury. What he found there disturbed him.

_Disobeyed-no-kill-sonofabitch-shouldhavedrownedyou-ruinedeverything-idiotboy-shouldhavestayed-scum-bastard-maybe-no-perhapsnotallruined-makesureneverleaveagain-lockedin-neverleave-**will**doasIsay._

Charles blinked and turned his eyes back to Erik on the stage who remained ignorant of Shaw's seething, weaving the levitating coin through his outstretched fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

What was he talking about? Of _course_ it was the most natural thing in the world. It was as natural to him as Charles' telepathy was to him.

It was also disarmingly beautiful.

Seeing him up there, manipulating the metal to his will with a small, blissfully uncomplicated smile on his face, was a moment Charles would remember for the rest of his life.

A moment, which was cut short by a flash of recognition from within the crowd.

"Hey! Isn't that the man who rings the bells?" Someone called, Erik's head snapped up, his eyes widening and darting back to Shaw. He flushed and hung his head when their gazes connected, a bewildering spark of humiliation radiating from Erik.

What on earth was going on there?

"Yeah!" Another shouted, "It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!" Erik visibly flinched as the crowd began shouting in recognition, some calling out "What are you doing out of your tower mutie? Come to join your own kind?" He looked positively mortified.

Charles was growing angrier by the second, and disapproving growls were beginning to sound from the group of his fellow mutants as the insults were chucked around, as the cruel laughter grew louder in the square.

It was the pleading look Erik sent in Shaw's direction, which was met with a hard, icy look and ignored, and the resultant thought-wave of Erik's despair that finally sent Charles over the edge.

_Stop._ He commanded. Silence fell immediately. _You are all disgraceful._ Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched him as he marched up the steps, taking Erik's hand into his.

Fear and shame were the dominant emotion in Erik's eyes, which were shining with unshed tears. Charles was very familiar with his pain.

_Don't be afraid. _He murmured, trying to convey comfort in those three words. _I'm so, terribly sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen._ His thoughts were heavy with regret as he turned his mind back to the crowd.

_You mistreat this poor man the same way you mistreat my people - with fear and hatred. Your leaders speak of justice and community, yet you are cruel to those who are most in need of your help! _A few shuffled, chagrin restless in their minds. For the most part though, the audience stared at him with defiance.

Sebastian Shaw began to rise slowly, rage burning in his eyes. "How dare you…" He growled over the silent crowd.

Charles smirked, "Oh, easily, _your honour._" His words practically dripped with sarcasm.

Shaw's eyes narrowed until they were nearly slits. "Mark my words, mutant. You will pay for your insolence." A bitter laugh escaped Charles' lips, causing his companions to shift uneasily.

"It appears, fair audience, that we have found our King. The real fool here, Mr. Shaw, is _you._" A gasp ripped through the spectators, and Shaw stared at the telepath, fuming.

Satisfied at Shaw's momentary loss at how to continue, Charles squeezed the hand that was still in his, and tugged gently, leading Erik off the stage. The crowd parted, giving them a wide berth.

"Erik." Erik stopped dead at Shaw's voice, his eyes flicking to Charles' for a split second before gazing uneasily up at the man. "Go back to your bells." There was a tense pause. "_Immediately._" He hissed.

Jerking to life, Erik pulled his hand from Charles', casting him an unfathomable glance, before taking off, practically running in his haste. Charles sighed as he read the intent in Shaw's mind.

"Guards, arrest him." He commanded. Rolling his eyes, Charles glared at the advancing men with disdain.

He placed two fingers to his temple, and cocked an eyebrow at Shaw, before making himself invisible to the minds around him. Gasps and shocked murmurs rose from the crowd as he disappeared, and he whispered into the mind of little Edie Sawyer (a young teleporter who was still too fresh into her manifestation to teleport very far, but had been desperate to join the festival).

_Would you be so kind as to give me a hand, my Dear?_ He asked, flashing her a view of his location. He felt a flash of eagerness in her mind just seconds before a small hand closed over his arm and Charles felt the familiar moment of dizziness and disorientation that came with teleportation.

The little girl next to him gripped his arm tighter as he staggered drunkenly a little. "Woah there, Professor." She murmured, using his nickname, not letting go until he'd gained back his balance. Unfortunately, he took too long pulling himself together; and he tensed at the flicker of recognition he felt in the crowd.

"He's there!" Came a shout, and Charles heard the poisonous flickers of selfishness, and a tinge of hope – they expected a reward. Great. Now there's a price on his head.

_Get out of here._ He flung at Edie. She didn't think twice before disappearing in a wisp of purple smoke.

He took off down an alleyway to the side of the cathedral, barely hearing the pounding feet and determined thoughts of men approaching behind him above the racing of his heart. Acid filled his mouth when he realised that some of them weren't even guards.

Growling, he hared right around the cathedral until he reached the back door, only to find he had nowhere to go but inside the building itself. Cursing he shouldered open the door into a small stone room and slid the deadbolt home, locking himself into the darkness.

Charles had to laugh bitterly at the situation he was in. He was locked in a tiny, freezing cold back room in a drafty cathedral on the run from the authorities (again). It was not something he had anticipated doing today. Then again, he hadn't anticipated meeting a striking young metallokinetic with an unyielding but innocent gaze and a mind as sharp as a tack.

Really, all he could do was watch the vapour curl from his warm mouth into the cold air and wait.

Wait for an opportunity to go home. God, he was missing Raven already. And Logan, and Sean, and little Edie…

But what was more important right now was his freedom. He refused to become a prey for someone as despicable as Shaw – he was stronger than that. He would not allow it. Still, he couldn't shake the sobering fact that he couldn't think of a way of preventing it as he stood in the frigid, pressing darkness.

All he could do was wait.


	4. Chapter 3

He staggered through the crowd, his emotions a senseless jumble in his throat and lungs, causing his breath to hitch and gasp in the beginnings of a sob. He couldn't cry. Not out here. Not in front of _them._

Their faces were blurred and swam and his eyes stung as he clumsily hurried up the steps of Notre Dame. Shouting had started up behind him just as he reached the door, and he didn't even look back as he tugged it open, his throat closing up with a thick swallow, desperate for his lonely sanctuary.

He slammed the door shut, earning a few hard, disapproving glares from the people in the pews as they prayed to a deity that would never turn away from _them_. Ignoring their glowers, he closed his eyes and slumped against the closed door, taking in a long shuddering breath to calm his frayed nerves.

Oh why had he thought he could do this? Shaw had told him, Shaw had _told_ him what would happen. He was right. He was always, always right.

He dragged a palm down his face with a weary, choked up sigh, grimacing at the wetness that stained his cheeks. In an attempt to compose himself he kept his eyes firmly shut, taking deep, calming breaths. He remained that way until the urge to curl up and weep had died from his chest, and taking a final lungful of air, he opened his eyes to find a tall gangly youth stood by his elbow.

"Erik? You-you okay?" He stammered as Erik cursed in surprise.

"Verdammt, McCoy! Do you have to sneak up on me like that? Verflucht seist du!" The skinny man pushed his glasses up his nose nervously and blushed.

"I-I'm sorry. I just… I heard about what happened… o-out there." He shrunk back at Erik's growl.

"Hank…" He warned, clenching his teeth together. He'd known Hank McCoy for a couple of years –not well though.

McCoy had become the archdeacon's steward when he'd turned 16 (nearly three years ago now), and had tried to befriend Erik whenever he came down from his tower to do his chores – which wasn't often. He'd tried in vain, but tried nonetheless. The stuttering boy still reached out occasionally, and Erik wondered if he was just as starved for friendship as he was. An elderly priest was hardly stimulating company for a young man like Hank.

McCoy gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. Erik sighed heavily and pushed himself off the door. "I need something to do. Do you have any extra work for me?" Erik didn't relish the idea of facing his friends. He knew they would be sickeningly sympathetic; Emma would try and make him laugh it off, Janos would be all deep and meaningful and make no sense as usual, and Azazel… Azazel would be a quiet presence in the corner, staring unobtrusively, but staring nonetheless. He didn't need their pity right now.

Hank's lips pressed into a quivering line, and – thankfully – he nodded, not saying a word as he skirted the walls towards the cathedral's storeroom.

oOo

Charles' head shot up as he heard a pair of footsteps echo down the hall. He searched around hurriedly as the footsteps grew nearer, looking for somewhere to hide. God _damn it! _There was nowhere that was suitable for hiding from a guard; they would tear the place to pieces just to find him.

Obscenely loud fretting could be heard outside the door, and it took a moment for Charles to realise, through his panicked haze, that the voice was not a _voice_, but a thought. A thought that was so loud, it was drowning out their companion's mind, reducing it to an intelligible mumble.

"Stay here." Said the young steward as he twisted the brass doorknob. Charles dove behind a tower of boxes and he clamped his hand over his mouth to smother his loud, flustered breathing.

He closed his eyes and pressed his palm harder across his nose and mouth as curt footsteps came closer and closer, stopping directly in front of the boxes he hid behind. Ignoring his lungs as they screamed for air, he waited until the steward and his quiet-minded companion was safely out of earshot before letting himself breathe with a gasp, his lungs burning.

Groaning, he ran a hand down his face and through his hair. That was close. He should find a more suitable hiding place. Somewhere people wouldn't look too closely. He found, in general, that people tended not to look properly at what was right in front of them; so where better to hide than in plain sight? Besides, it looked like he was trapped in this cathedral for the indeterminable future; and he didn't want to spend his last nights of freedom curled in a freezing cold storeroom.

It took him five long minutes before he worked up the nerve to stand at the closed door, sending a brush of thought out into the stone corridors beyond it. When his brief mental search came up with nothing, he placed his hand on the cold metal latch, knowing he would not be spotted if he walked out of the door. Despite this confidence, his heart still remained resolutely in his throat, pounding out a nervous beat like an over-enthusiastic percussionist.

Steeling himself, he pushed open the door before he could change his mind again, screwing his eyes shut and standing still and silent in the hallway. After a moment's pause, he let his breath out in a sharp _woosh_.

Well that was anticlimactic.

Shaking his head at his stupidity, Charles began to wander down the hallway to the biggest cluster of minds in the building; _the more people one hides behind, the more invisible one will be. _He mused.

His meanderings took him to a few dead ends once or twice, but it didn't faze him; he just kept wandering towards the off-key hum that signalled the crowd of minds, all collected in one room.

It took him another five minutes at least to find the main room (The Nave) in the massive cathedral, and the sight that awaited him took his breath away.

The room was cavernous; everything seemed larger than it naturally should be. Pillars, thicker than tree trunks, held up enormous curving arches and intricately carved plinths where balconies rested, looking over the hall.

The sunset streamed through the brightly coloured windows, casting ghostly shapes, each a different colour from the last across the tiled floor.

Charles took in his surroundings with a slow, cautious awe; if one wanted to get close to God, this was certainly the place to do it. The place was mighty, and had a sense of echoing power that resonated deep within his brain. It was like the walls themselves had thoughts; each stone and scrap of metal imbued with the lingering consciousness of thousands of centuries of worship. Each imprinted mind was like a whisper against Charles' soul.

He'd never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful.

Slowly, he made his way deeper into the hall, slinking into the shadows and watching with unbridled longing as worshippers sat/knelt/stood in respectful silence.

Alter boys and stewards scurried around like voiceless mice, busying themselves with chores and the upkeep of the ancient building.

Charles wished with everything he had that it was something he could be apart of.

He'd never felt so lonely in his life.

Skirting through the shadows, he came across The North Transept, where a life-sized effigy of The Virgin Mary stood, her hands clasped together in prayer, and her eyes unseeing.

In front of her, lay a pillow on which to kneel, and Charles was suddenly struck with an overwhelming desire to do just that. Self-conscious under her blind gaze, he sunk down onto the battered pillow and watched her, as if she would spring to life any moment.

After a moment or two, he addressed the bronze statue.

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there. I have no idea if you'll even listen to a _mutant_ anyway; let alone a telepath, who can breach the privacy of everyone anytime without a second thought." He sighed, casting his eyes down.

"I know I'm just an outcast; I shouldn't speak to you." He turned his gaze back to the statue, contemplating her face sadly. "Still, I see your face and wonder, were you once an outcast too?

"God, help the mutants. They are alone and afraid. Most of them have been hungry from birth, never having the simple luxuries of regular meals. Show them the mercy they don't find on Earth.

"Help my people, _please._ Some who haven't seen the things I have seen still look to you… you have to help them, or nobody will."

He fell silent, bowing his head, unsure of what to say next. He crept quietly into the thoughts of the parishioners around him for inspiration, hoping to find the hope he was so desperately needing after that incident with the man in the square.

The hatred that had been directed towards that poor man had made Charles' blood boil and his heart turn to ice. It wasn't fair.

_I ask for wealth,_ came a thought from somewhere in the middle of the pews.

_Lord, please give me fame. _

_Dear God, I hope for glory to shine on my name forevermore, and to be described in song and poem and prose for hundreds of years to come._

A heartfelt, bitter twang came from an elderly widow in the back of the church as she stared with an aging glare at the stained glass windows.

_I ask for love,_ she prayed, _for a man to sweep me off my feet, and love me with everything they have, like my darling Robbie used to love me…_

Charles' heart wept for her sorrow.

_Our Father, who art in Heaven; hallowed be thy name, …_

The prayer most featured among the minds of the congregation was not one which surprised Charles. For the most part, people usually thought of themselves.

_I ask for God and His Angels to bless me…_

Wrenching his eyes back to the unmoving bronze, his gaze wet and heavy, he whispered into the quiet of the church, "I ask for nothing, I can get by. But there are so _many_ out there less lucky than myself. I cannot help them all, despite my best intentions. So, Lord, please help the mutants. We do not want to be outsiders, I do not want my people to be hated and ridiculed because of the way they were born. It isn't fair."

A single tear slid slowly down his face.

"I thought we all were the children of God?"

oOo

He was replacing the snuffed out candles by the North Transept when he heard it; a low heartfelt mumble in a voice Erik was slowly coming to recognise. It had spoken not an hour previously in his own head; no, he didn't think he would ever forget that voice.

He left his work without a second glance, creeping around the corner towards the quiet sound.

Peering around the corner, his heart faltered when he saw whom he'd thought – hoped – he'd heard; it was the man, knelt before a bronze Virgin Mary (unremarkable really, there were a few dotted around the place) his brown hair lit with soft light, fractured and coloured as it streamed through the decorated windows.

He was praying. He was a mutant, and he was praying. The thought sent his mind into a reel of dizzying thoughts, which he clamped down on as quickly as he could, remembering the nature of Xavier's ability.

His voice was heavy, and his eyes glistened and shone in the darkness; his expression the complete opposite of what it had been earlier that evening. He looked… sad.

"I ask for nothing," He murmured, his voice wavering with unshed tears "I can get by. But there are so _many_ out there less lucky than myself. I cannot help them all, despite my best intentions. So, Lord, please help the mutants. We do not want to be outsiders, I do not want my people to be hated and ridiculed because of the way they were born. It isn't fair."

No, it wasn't. It wasn't fair at all. No one should hate a man like Xavier.

The man fell silent for a moment.

God, he looked so _small. _So lost.

"I thought we all were the children of God?"

Erik's heart went out to the man kneeling in front of the statue. He knew his pain; he felt it everyday. But as Erik rested his head against unyielding stone, never taking his eyes off the brunette, he felt like he was the lucky one. He had a home and Master Shaw, who loved and took care of him. Who did Charles have? Who would take care of him?

The man in question twitched, as if someone had called his name. Chagrin bloomed in Erik's chest when the man flung up from his position on the floor, spinning to face him with the beginnings of a blush, which turned the tips of his ears a captivating, dusky pink.

As soon as the blue gaze aligned with his grey-green one, a shout came from behind him.

"You! Bell Ringer! What are you doing down here? Haven't you caused enough trouble already?" Erik jumped, startled, and backed away from the enraged voice with an anxious glance towards the telepath. He stumbled and fell in his haste, staggering into a candle staff, knocking it to the ground.

He barely spared a glance for the fallen object before he took off, running to the steps up to his tower – his sanctuary.

"Wait!" Xavier called from behind him, "I want to talk to you!" But Erik didn't stop, a grim mortification roiled in his gut from being caught staring. He shouldn't have been staring – _why_ had he been staring? Nobody had ever so fully captured his attention before this man, but _why?_ He'd _known_ other mutants were out there, so that mustn't be it. So why had this man so successfully arrested his interest?

Bounding up the wooden staircase to his rooms, Erik paused for only a moment, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Emma bounced towards him, her metal humming with delight.

"Oh! Erik, you found a friend!" She chirped happily, "And might I say, he's really something else!" A coy grin slipped onto her features and her eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"No. You may not say." He practically growled. Emma whistled, rolling her eyes and flashing a wicked grin.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Sugar? Oh, well, I honestly didn't know you were inclined that way! Don't worry," She bent down to his stooped height, muttering a stage whisper in his ear. "We won't tell." She threw a glance over her shoulder at an approaching Azazel. "Isn't that right Az?"

Azazel gave her a firm look, tutting slightly before replying. "_Nyet_, we wouldn't, but don't go scaring the boy, he does live in a church after all."

Emma pouted prettily at Erik, "Awe, poor, innocent little prude." She clucked as he glowered at her, mockingly pinching his cheek between her metal fingers.

"Erik?" Charles voice floated up the staircase, coming closer and closer.

Straightening up like he'd just been electrocuted, he stumbled towards the bell room, barely noticing as his three friends returned to the corner (Janos having already been there, watching Emma with the usual exasperated amusement) and freezing into lifeless statues.

oOo

He all but sprinted up the steps, desperate to talk to the man who he'd unwittingly humiliated in front of thousands of people. "Erik?" He called, following the warm glow of the man's mind into a cavernous room with bare timbre floors.

Stepping through the doorway into the aforementioned room, Charles gasped as he caught his foot on an uneven plank of floor and tumbled to the ground; making the most mortifying high pitched squeal as he landed. (Which later, he vehemently denies – "It was the floorboard creaking God damn it.")

He felt his head connect with the wood with a hollow _twack_ and he froze where he fell for a moment as pain blossomed across the surface of his skull. Erik's thoughts reverberated across the walls of his brain, suddenly seeming really, _really_ loud.

_OhmyGodwhathappenedisheokay-doesheneedhelpcanihelp-ishehurting_-_givesmemoretimetorun__**what**__noididn'tmeanthat-OhGodsosorry-ohhe'sgroaningwhyishegroaningwill hebeokay-damagedohwhatifheisdamagedeh ohGod-I-_

"Please!" Charles gasped out, looking up from his spot on the floor will a pained grin. His concern was oddly endearing but, Oh God, it was _deafening_. "I'm fine. Absolutely fine. You're just… thinking a little loudly for me to cope at the moment." He flashed another smile at the man hesitating in another doorway across the room.

_Thinkquietlythinkquietlythin kquietly-howthehelldoyoudothat-nodon'tthinkdon'tthinkwouldbebetter-_

Charles groaned and dropped his head back to the floor, closing his eyes against the barrage of thoughts.

_Scheiße. _Came the loud mental curse, the mental tirade finally over. Charles winced at the foul language, but thanked God the man's mind was, now at least, coherent – and Oh God, blissfully quiet, rather than a rush of loud emotion through his head.

He noticed the footsteps approaching him, and Charles was struck with a sense of imbalance as the light, swift steps didn't exactly match up with Erik's tall, muscular frame. Though a quick brush with his telepathy told him that it was in fact Erik that approached him, and in the brief contact, he could feel the anxiety and awkwardness in his thoughts as he crouched next to Charles' head (which was still resting dolefully on the floor).

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice small and tentative. Charles levelled him a look. "Ah, sorry." He murmured, a little embarrassed. "Stupid question."

"Quite." He retorted dryly, pushing up from the floor. The swiftness of this action caused Erik to flinch slightly, cringing away from Charles in a way that left the latter curious and slightly stung.

Hurrying to correct his obvious mistake, he glanced around the room for something to latch onto, but he pulled up short, his mouth falling open with a soft gasp of amazement.

The room was large and open, sunlight streaming through the open door that led to a vast stone balcony, which Charles knew from his many occasions staring up at the towering building, curled right around the walls of the tower, providing a stunning view to the whole of Paris.

The roof was impossibly high – undoubtedly because there had to be space for the gargantuan bells to hang, in the next room – and it opened up the space impossibly further, making Charles feel small and insignificant.

It wasn't this that caught his attention though; it was the large mobile hung from a supporting beam about eight ft in the air. It was a thing of beauty; countless types of metals of various colours, shades, shapes and sizes hung from thin rods, bent and shaped into graceful whirls and effortless ringlets. Sunlight glanced off each small chunk of metal, casting haunting, but gorgeous patterns on the walls and floors.

The room was scrupulously tidy, save for the large worktable, which was home to a large metallic model of the cathedral and the surrounding square complete with tiny figurines, each made from different metals – and blocks of these metals were stashed in a neat pile underneath the table, ready to be crafted. The detail in the work was amazing.

The only sign that someone actually _lived _here, rather than using the space as some sort of craft shop was the small straw cot, located inconspicuously in the corner.

"What _is _this place?" Charles whispered, still taking in the room with awed eyes.

"This is… where I live." Erik replied, his voice curiously soft.

Charles slowly made his way further into the room, lifting a hand to gently run his fingers over the metal mobile, causing it to rock slightly, sending the reflections on the walls dancing.

"Did you… Did you make all this?" He asked realising that with Erik's power; metal was perhaps his most preferred media for craftwork. It was certainly a stunning display of power and creativity.

Erik nodded, and Charles caught the movement with the corner of his eye. He fingered the mobile again, watching the reflected light flurry around each other manically.

"If I could do this… well, you wouldn't find me performing cheap mind tricks for coins."

Erik's eyes widened, and he turned to face Charles, an odd spark in his eyes, which Charles couldn't decipher.

"But you're a wonderful magician!" He protested gently as Charles moved towards the model city.

"It helps feed a horde of hungry mutants anyway." He murmured, ignoring Erik's shy questioning tilt of the head. "You know, I really wanted to apologise to you, Erik. If I had known who you were, I would have never forced you to go up there and humiliate yourself. I am so sor-" Erik cut him off with a firm shake of the head, his jaw clenching suddenly. The transformation was startling; the shy, gentle young man was suddenly replaced buy a hardened, strong man seething with barely concealed anger and bitterness.

An alarming flicker of heat curled suddenly in Charles' gut.

"Don't." Erik snapped shortly, and Charles blinked, astounded and slightly fearful. Did he just project that sensation…? "Don't apologise. It's not your fault. The humans would never see me anything other than I was. You didn't know."

Charles paused, perplexed, trying to unwrap his meaning from the sentence and not quite coming up with anything that made sense. "Uh… What?" He queried, feeling (for once) intensely dumb.

Erik didn't answer, preferring just to watch with an unreadable expression until Charles decided to speak again. Feeling awkward, he nodded, wanting to press further, but unsure of how exactly to proceed. He settled for, "This really is a beautiful place." Giving the room another appreciative once over.

Erik grunts a quiet affirmative, nodding as he murmured, "I know, I'm really lucky. I have lots of space to myself, free time, and Master Shaw teaches me languages and my alphabet and numbers. I can read and write, and Master provides me with metals for my craftwork. It's a lot more than others have." He almost mumbles the last bit, and Charles wonders with a light blush how much of his pathetic attempt at prayer was heard.

"And of course, there is the bells." He continued, his face lighting up with barely concealed excitement. "Would you like to see them?"

A slow smile crept onto Charles' face at Erik's cautious enthusiasm. "Of course, I'd be delighted!"

A grin flashed across Erik's face for a split second; wide and a little too toothy, but incredibly contagious and gone as soon as it came. Erik spun on his heel and stalked to into a room leading off from his quarters.

This room was just as impressive as the last; huge bells hung from oversized metallic structures and mechanisms. Erik strode through the bells with confidence, describing the various sounds and frequencies they made when rung, and their metals, densities and weights. Charles let it all sink in, wandering around the hulking giants with an open mouth.

He ran a finger over the edge of the a bell, shinier and better looking than the rest of them, fascinated with the designs etched into the rim. There was so much hidden beauty in the depths of the tower. He couldn't help but feel like he was in on some great secret.

Absorbed in his fascination, Charles jumped a mile when a large, warm hand closed over his wrist, halting his wandering fingers.

"That's Emmanuel," Erik murmured, "Beautiful." In his rational mind, Charles knew he was talking about the masterpiece in front of them; but he couldn't help the little dance his heart did behind his ribs as Erik's eyes never left his, oddly intense.

It would only take a small dip into the man's mind to confirm this, but somehow, it felt like cheating.

"Yes." He agreed, hating the way his voice sounded breathless.

There was a moment of charged silence, green eyes staring intently into blue, before a flicker of something passed through the former, bringing an eerie blankness in its wake.

Momentarily worried, Charles skimmed the very surface of Erik's mind, finding only wordless anxiety. Confused, Charles withdrew and frowned lightly as Erik released his wrist and strode back out the door and right out onto the balcony, leaning against the stone wall with easy grace.

Charles watched him from the door, as he spoke out into the city. "I've never had visitors up here before." Somehow that didn't surprise Charles.

"Your Master?" Erik nodded, breathing a deep sigh.

"I scare people." Erik continued gently, "Being a Mutant, and… well, look at me." His voice dripped with bitterness.

_I am,_ Charles thought, _God help me, I can't stop. _"What do you mean?"

"I'm a monster." Erik whispered, throwing a glance to Charles over his shoulder. "I always have been."

Charles furrowed his brow with a frown, but said nothing as he tried to parse the meaning from that sentence. Surely he didn't mean…

After a moment, Erik turned his gaze back out into the city, watching the sunset, content to say nothing else.

Which was fine, because Charles needed a little time to think.

He'd been through a lot over his relatively short life, but never had Charles met anyone so conflicted in his life. On the one hand, there was part of Erik that shone with boyish excitement whenever he used his ability, or when he just talking, glad to have someone who would finally listen. Then in the next second, it would be like a curtain had fallen behind his eyes, and he was just 'The Bell Ringer of Notre Dame. Charles didn't know what to make of it.

And for all that, Erik still sparked interest in him in ways that Charles struggled to control. He knew better than most society's views on homosexual men, and had seen first hand what happened to the poor fellows were they caught. He also knew however, that homosexuality was a lot more common in men and women than people cared to think about, and had been the subject of more than one man's sexual fantasy.

Charles had never had anything against homosexuality; he knew the human mind better than anyone else on the planet, and he knew the love one man had for another was just as pure as the love a man had for a woman, or a woman for another woman. He knew that loving someone of the same sex had nothing to do with the devil, witchcraft or any other sinful things, and so there was no way he could hate someone for doing something that was as natural to them as loving someone of a different sex was to another.

This still didn't prepare him for the reality that he _himself _might be attracted to men; for the attention Charles had for Erik was certainly nothing that he could constitute as platonic.

The fact that he was having this revelation in the house of God was not helping matters in the slightest; but looking at Erik now – a picture of controlled ease framed by the sun setting on a sleepy city – Charles could think of no other place he would rather have such an epiphany than right here, amongst the rest of the discarded secrets of Notre Dame.

_What's one more 'sin' when the world hates you anyway, just for being born?_ Charles thought to himself.

Erik's eyes remained towards Paris, hard with some unfathomable emotion that Charles was sorely tempted to telepathically untangle. It was a temptation he resisted.

Charles slumped against the wall, lowering himself to the floor in an ungainly sprawl. Erik's eyes flickered towards him reflexively at the movement, but moved away just as quickly, as if he were trying not to look.

They didn't speak to each other, and Charles (usually a chatterbox) didn't feel inclined to break the comfortable silence that descended over them. Charles couldn't think of a word to describe what he was feeling right at that moment, as he watched Erik face the wind with an unreadable expression. It felt like companionship.

Now he was here, in the presence of one of the few people who have truly managed to intrigue him for more than five minutes, Charles wasn't quite sure what to do. One thing he did know though, was that he was finding excuses to come back once he inevitably had to leave – He wanted to see this man again; see him, understand him (which if he didn't by now, he likely never was going to which was _novel_), and _know _him without the use of his telepathy.

He was doomed.

oOo

He gazed over the city, letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair into an untidy mop rather than his usual, neatly combed style.

He was constantly aware of Charles sprawled on the ground behind him, his gaze a tingling weight on his back. No words were said – no words needed to be said. They just remained in comfortable, companionable silence – something Erik had lacked over the years. They were in no hurry to shatter the peace that surrounded them.

A couple were strolling arm in arm through the square, oblivious to the man staring down from his bell tower. They were completely absorbed in each other; walking closely side by side, comfortable in each other's space.

Erik watched them meander over the cobbles, taking in the scene with a considering – wondering – gaze.

The pair had a kind of glow around them, he noticed.

It almost looked like Heaven's Light.

Erik knew he'd never know that warm and loving glow no matter how hard he wished he could.

_No face as hideous as mine was ever meant for Heaven's Light._ He thought, bitterly.

A soft but horrified gasp came from behind him, and he turned to find Charles pushing to his feet and striding towards him, his blue eyes intense and blazing.

_You are far from hideous, my friend._ He murmured, his lips unmoving.

Erik swallowed heavily, his gaze darting traitorously to the telepath's mouth as the man invaded his space further. _How can you say that? _Erik thought back, _Can you not see?_

A memory sprung, unbidden, to the surface of his mind.

~oOo~

"_You cannot go outside, Erik! I will not allow it." A ten-year-old Erik slumped into his seat, disappointment swelling in his young heart._

"_Why not, Master?" He asked, a gentle pout pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I want to play with the other boys and girls." Erik knew instantly he had overstepped as fury boiled in Shaw's eyes. A heavy fist connected with a rough **thump** to his jaw, and he clutched at the injury, sparks flying before his eyes. "I'm sorry, Master! I'm sorry! Please!" _

_Shaw's gaze clouded for a moment, grasping his upper-arm so tight it hurt. "You do not understand, boy. You will scare the other children. Do not ask again. I am tired of your insolence. Do you want another beating?"_

_Erik's mouth opened with a pop, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he shook his head vigorously, wincing as it aggravated his jaw. "H-How will I scare them, Master?" He asked despite himself._

_Shaw flashed a grin, his eyes cooling to ice. "Can you not see, boy?" He pulled from his coat, a familiar reflective piece of metal he'd had Erik fashion for him when he was five years old. I was the size and shape of a large coin, and had taken Erik a gruelling three days of failed attempts and beatings each time he did so. Erik was very familiar with that metal. "Can you not see the shadows?"_

"_S-Shadows?" little Erik asked, his eyes wide and frightened._

"_Of course you wouldn't notice, boy. How silly of me to think you would. You have grown up with them after all; you would know no different."_

_His grin softened into something scary; an expression Erik was always nervous of. Sometimes it meant he was going to get another lashing, sometimes it meant he was going to be beaten, or have to try move those humongous bells again. They were so heavy, he was always ill after trying to shift their colossal weight - Vomiting everywhere like a common drunk._

"_The Shadows, kleiner Erik, are layered in your very skin, and darken your features. They twist something that would be beautiful and pure into something evil; something to be feared. _

"_The other children and their parents will see these ugly, dark shadows and be frightened of you. They will see something cruel and monstrous. They will fear, and pity you."_

_Erik raised a shaking hand to his face, as if to feel for the shadows that Shaw spoke of._

"_Erik," he continued, pausing until the boy looked at him with watery eyes. "You must not go outside, do you understand? Verstehst du mich, Erik? You must stay in here. Do not ask me again. Ja?"_

_Silent tears streamed down the boy's cheeks, his heart sinking. He was different in everyway possible it was for a boy to be different. How would he survive being all alone, forever and ever?_

"_Yes, Ich verstehe, Master."_

~oOo~

Charles' face was pale, his eyes glimmering fiercely and his hands shaking with barely suppressed rage. Erik closed his eyes, satisfied that he had proved his point, but saddened that by doing so he had inexplicably upset the one person who had been kind to him. He hadn't wanted to cause Charles pain.

He never wanted that.

He drowned in his own self-loathing misery for a moment, listening as Charles' breathing spiked and fell until he calmed.

A warm hand cradling his cheek jerked his eyes open.

Charles' eyes searched his face intently, and Erik could almost feel his gaze raking gently over his skin like a caress.

Barely a minute passed before a soft smile curved those captivating lips.

Charles looked nothing less than an angel. And that angel was smiling _at him._

The man's smile grew as he caught the tenor of that thought, and he moved slowly closer, pushing upwards so his breath was stroking gently across his cheek.

The kiss that Charles placed on that cheek was light and lingering, making the skin tingle for moments after it was finished.

Erik felt his eyes widen and he was sure his brain had instantly disconnected from his body, refusing to function any further.

He had no idea what to _do_.

A soft chuckle escaped from the other man's mouth – that mouth which had been on him, touching him. Oh, God. – and he stroked Erik's cheekbones, tracing the line of his nose with his forefinger.

"I see no shadows." Charles murmured, his gaze never leaving Erik's face.

For the first time, Erik shoved away everything – his anxiety (Charles was a _man. A. Man.)_, his terror of scaring Charles off; everything – and allowed himself to hope. His cold, dark tower seemed to brighten. Everything was glowing with new possibilities and faith.

He swore it must be Heaven's light.


	5. Chapter 4

**I realized that when I uploaded stories as Word docs, took out the three asterisks I used to show time gaps or POV changes more clearly xD So now I'm using this: oOo so it should be a tad easier to understand. I am going to change it on the previous chapters… soon… maybe. :)**

**WARNING; I truly geek out about how I view the mechanics of the mind through a telepath's eyes and have A MASSIVE monologue about how I think projecting works and range and the (yes, a term I made up) 'midspace' outside a psychics mind. So. I AM SORRY IF I BORE YOU. BUT IT FASCINATES ME AND I WOULD LOVE TO BE A TELEPATH SO I SPEND MOST OF MY TIME WONDERING HOW IT WORKS. So… there :P 3 Yes, I know, I need a life, but what can you do?**

**So here's a new chapter… Let me go curl up in a corner because I am actually slightly creeped out by my own characterisation of Shaw. The things that go through my head… **

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**WARNING: _this chapter contains what may be viewed as a little disturbing, and some creepy ust from Shaw. _**

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

Charles gazed up at him with a sparkle in his blue eyes, his face pulled into a gentle smile as Erik struggled to pull himself together. There was a moment of silence where they just looked at each other; Erik, because he was struggling to grasp the sheer enormity of what had just happened, whilst Charles remained looking as cool and tranquil as ever. The air was thick with a tension Erik couldn't fathom, each beat of his racing heart resounding through it.

Erik was nearly overcome with the pressing urge to just _touch._

Charles cleared his throat then, looking away with a slightly strained smile and a faint blush colouring the tops of his ears. "You – ah – have such a lovely view." He mumbled, gesturing out to the surrounding city. "I wish I could stay up here forever." The confession did funny things to Erik's stomach.

"You could, you know." He said quietly, inspecting his shoes, so he didn't catch the glance filled with _shockhopefond_ that Charles inadvertently threw his way.

A soft silence permeated the air for a beat before Charles murmured, "I'm afraid I cannot, my friend."

Erik looked up, staring at the other man perhaps a little too intensely. "Yes, you could." He insisted, "You would have sanctuary here."

"But not freedom." He said wryly. "Not all of us do well alone." He tapped a finger to his temple with a cockeyed smile, "Silence is unknown to me, my friend. I would go mad within a month."

Erik couldn't help the chuckle at that; he was so opposite in every way. He was perfection. "How do you cope, reading so many minds at once?" He queried.

A small laugh escaped those impossibly red lips. "I don't _read_ them per say; that implies conscious effort. I would say that I more… overhear. Of course, to get deeper than the surface thoughts I do have to actually think about it and actually attempt it; _that_ is reading, but otherwise it's like… being in a crowded room. Everyone is talking at once and I don't really understand – especially in a large group of minds – until I deliberately try. When I am not working or in a situation where I absolutely have to, then I try not to read them at all. I… tune out, so to speak, so the incessant noise doesn't drive me to distraction."

Erik's interest was piqued, _time to test that theory_ he thought. "Are you reading my mind now?" was what came out of his mouth, whilst thinking _SNAILS, _as hard as he could.

Charles stuttered a startled laugh. "I wasn't, but I can hear you if you shout." He explained, chuckling lightly. "The louder - _harder_ you think, the more likely I am to hear you, whether I am actively tuning you out or not. Also, why snails?" Erik shrugged, the corners of his mouth turned up.

Giving another chuckle, Charles faced back out to the sunset and watched the darkness creep up on the city, his face unreadable. They stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in a comfortable silence. Unfortunately, it couldn't last, and it wasn't long (but also far too long in Erik's opinion) before Charles spoke again.

"I have to leave, I'm afraid. My sister will be worrying." He frowned out to the city as he said this, as if the idea troubled him.

_I want you to stay_, Erik wanted to say, _I want you to stay and never leave. _Charles made no sign that he had heard that, much to Erik's relief, but made no move to leave. If Erik were masochistic, he would fancy that Charles was reluctant to go. But he wasn't, and that was not the case.

Even so, it took another minute before Charles turned from the sunset with a sigh and crossed towards Erik, placing a lingering hand on his arm before murmuring "Until next time, Erik." and walking back through the door, leaving Erik alone in his sanctuary.

oOo

Sebastian was angry - Unmercifully so. He felt like the Devil was throwing every one of his tricks at him in the one day, just to watch him stumble. But he wouldn't falter in his cause to cleanse God's sacred earth from these… _beings_. Sebastian Shaw, (nor Klaus Schmidt or Claude Frollo) would never give in to these _heathens. _

But by The Almighty Father, had these last few hours been trying.

He should have known when Erik showed signs of wanting to leave his tower, that Der Teufel had already began whispering poisonous fantasies into the boy's mind.

If the blasted mutant leaving his tower wasn't challenging enough, things were made much more complicated by adding Charles Xavier. The telepath.

That man was a demon in a saint's skin.

There was no other explanation for his existence; no man should be that captivating. Large, impossibly blue eyes and pale skin dusted with freckles from the sun – a picture of beauty and innocence that contrasted sharply with the danger, the thrilling power the man had at his fingertips.

Could he crush a man with a single thought? Likely. Could he force a man to do things he would never normally do; posses his mind and body, and make him sin over and over again? Could he make him enjoy it?

So much power, so much danger under the guise of a humble street performer; Sebastian half wished it was Xavier he had locked up in the bell tower. It would make his mission to obliterate the mutants so much easier if he could just read the location of their hideout from their thoughts.

But he didn't have Xavier. He had Erik, who had single-handedly wiped out any doubt of his being a mutant and possibly damaged Shaw's plans, all in the space of an hour.

This was not something he could excuse.

Lady McTaggart and her man, Summers, were a constant presence beside him, the Lady watching him with a shrewd glare as he slowly fell apart; his murderous rage and frustration at his guards' utter incompetence at finding one rogue telepath spilling over.

It was only an hour before he couldn't take any more of her watching him, murmuring to Summers in a hushed tone he had no hope of overhearing. She disapproved of something; that, he could tell. As to what, remained a mystery.

And he wasn't staying to find out.

Wishing her a curt goodbye whilst ignoring Summers completely, he offered a polite bow before leaving, storming up to the monstrosity that was Notre Dame.

He took the steps two at a time, feeling a dark thrill rise up inside him as he contemplated how exactly he was going to punish Erik for his transgressions.

But all thoughts of discipline quickly fled him, by none other than Charles Xavier, walking up the aisle towards him; his head down, and a small, devastatingly soft smile painting his features.

Shaw froze when Xavier stiffened, raising his gaze from the ground to meet his, wariness and possibly a little fear in their depths. Shaw felt his mouth twitch up into a predatory grin, as he jerked into action, advancing on the telepath like a cat stalking a rat.

Xavier backed up, never taking his eyes off Shaw and his pace quickening with every step. Sebastian exalted inside when Xavier caught the back of his foot against one of the pews, stumbling and falling onto his backside with a quiet rush of breath.

He was trapped.

"S-sanctuary!" the telepath squeaked, his voice high and breathless, like he'd just run a mile. His beautiful eyes were brightened by fear, and his chest rose and fell heavily with his quickened breathing. He was quite the sight to see.

The meaning of that word finally sunk in when Sebastian was towering above the quaking telepath. His manic smile dropped instantly, and he bared his teeth as he hissed, "What?" Shaw prided himself on his ability to sound so very menacing; it was certainly coming in use now, as the telepath pushed shakily to his knees, cowering under his glare.

"Sanctuary. As long as I am in the house of God, man or mutant, you cannot harm me." Sebastian growled, feeling a foreign pulse low in his stomach when the man on his knees flinched, his eyes averted and his head bowed slightly. To have a man with such power on his knees, cowering and quaking like a leaf… it felt… heady.

The telepath's eyes flashed to his then, narrowed with a slightly disgusted twinge and he scrambled to his feet, hurrying away towards the western side of the cathedral.

Sebastian charged up behind the telepath and wrapped his arms in a too tight embrace around the latter's body, pinning the man's arms to his sides and bringing him to a halt.

Xavier struggled, unable to move out of Shaw's constricting hold, his blue eyes sparkling with fear and rage.

"Ah, ah, aah." Shaw murmured, his lips brushing the shell of the brunette's ear. "You don't want to make a scene now do you? This is a church after all."

Xavier growled, the sound grumbling through the man's chest, vibrating though Shaw's body. Sebastian felt his heart quicken, his body becoming excited by the man struggling in his arms.

A flicker of alarm ran through Shaw as he felt his body growing interested. He wasn't about to let this man go however.

He slid a hand up Xavier's chest, bringing it to a stop in a lose hold on the column of the man's throat. He could feel the bob of the telepath's adams apple as he swallowed, and the racing of his heart, pulsing blood and heat around the man's body with heavy, wet thuds.

"Let me go, I have claimed sanctuary! You cannot harm me." He protested, reiterating his statement. His breathless, fear filled voice only served to make Shaw's skin heat up and tingle with a sensation not uncommon to him.

The lust was heady, and made his thoughts warm and sluggish, like hot treacle; but he wasn't so far gone not to feel disgust and shame for allowing his thoughts and body to be controlled by that demon.

This disgust didn't stop him surrendering to the urge to press his nose into that soft brown hair and inhale his scent. It was warm, soft and distinctive, like old books and tea, mixed with fresh bread and clean air and something distinctly _male_. It was not something he'd ever experienced before, which only fed his theory of mental manipulation by the demon telepath.

"What are you doing?" The man in his arms hissed. Shaw grinned a perverse grin and growled, low and hungry in his chest.

"Imagining a rope around that pretty neck." He crooned, running his fingers up the pillar of flesh under his hands, brushing over the man's thundering pulse with a feeling akin to fascination.

Shaw felt minutely detached from his body as he did this – feeling the lust and the skin under his fingers; but he was unable to control himself, unable to halt his blasphemous feelings.

It was _wrong._

What was he _doing_? And why could he not stop?

In his distraction, the telepath had managed to wriggle free of Sebastian's grip, and had flung around to face him, watching him with a defensive stance and guarded eyes.

Without the body pressed against his, and the intoxicating scent filling his nostrils, Shaw felt his head clearing; the want falling to the back of his mind, his repulsed thoughts pushing to the forefront.

He scowled at the telepath, "Fine. But you will not get out of here without my men catching you. There will be guards at every door and down every street. Neither you, nor your accomplices will get anywhere near each other, and you will not get out of here uncaptured, make no mistake about that." he vowed, before turning on his heel and marching out of the door and away from the mutants poisonous influence.

Upon leaving the cathedral, he regaled his instructions to the hoards impatiently, feeling a slight smug satisfaction as the head of the guard flinched every time Shaw gestured a little too wildly.

The satisfaction was not sufficient to quell the want still flickering under his skin, and the hurry to get home and wash off the demon's stench with prayer and holy water.

When he was happy his direction was underway, he pulled a young guard off his horse unapologetically and mounted it, kicking his heels into its flanks and speeding off home.

It took twenty minutes at a flat out gallop to reach his house on the West side of Paris, and by then the lust had faded into nearly nothing, his mind instead awash with mortification and horror at the affect the younger man had on him.

Throwing open the door, he disregarded the night that had fallen and permeated his home. Instead, heading straight for his rooms and the shrine to the virgin mother and the statue that stood there.

He lit the candle on his desk and used its light to guide his movements as he built up the fireplace; careful in his ministrations, using the small movements to calm himself.

Too soon however, the fire was high, and Sebastian could do no more to prepare himself for God's judgement.

Rising to his feet, he crossed the polished wooden floors to face the shrine. He sank to his knees in front of the virgin Mary and bowed his head, bringing his clasped hands to his face.

"Help me, Maria." He beseeched, "You know I am a righteous man; I am justly proud of my virtue, and you know I am so much purer in my soul than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd." He spat the detriments, knowing in his heart that his words were true. He was superior.

"So tell me, Maria, why do I see him standing in my mind's eye? Why do his smouldering eyes still scorch my soul, even when I am no longer caught in their captivating gaze?" he mused, rubbing a hand thoughtfully across his jaw.

"I still feel him." He murmured, moving the hand from his face down to his chest, shuddering when his fingers caught a nipple under his cotton shirt.

"I see him," Sebastian screwed his eyes shut, both marvelling and despairing at the image caught behind his lids.

There the telepath stood, with his mouth pulled in a lopsided, cocky grin, the sun caught in his raven hair and pooling in gentle shadows around his eyes, making them stand out like two sapphire suns in the night sky.

"It's blazing in me out of all control." He breathed.

"It's like a fire from hell. His hellfire is burning though me, and it was put there by that **Devil!**" He dissolved into a shout, rage mixed with lust, shame and a vulnerability previously unknown to him. He felt sick.

"It's under my skin. This fire, this demon, is turning me to sin." He tore his gaze up to the statue, his eyes wide and afraid, afraid of judgement and rejection from the Lord himself.

"It's not my fault! It is the mutant boy, the _witch_ that set this flame! I did not plan this – I never would! He made the Devil so much stronger than one man." His voice turned quiet, deadly.

"Don't let this siren cast his spell, don't let his fire sear my flesh from bone."

He growled with a furious hunger, he could use this to his advantage… if he could get his hands on this man, he could finally finish God's work and rid the mutants from the planet once and for all.

God wouldn't begrudge Shaw what he wanted then…

"Destroy Charles Xavier and let him taste the fires of hell – or else let him be mine,

"And mine alone."

oOo

Charles cursed at Shaw's retreating back, the skin on his neck still tingling from his sickening caress.

He scrubbed his hands over his neck, as if to rub off the feeling of Shaw's sweaty fingertips tracing over his skin. He was feeling vaguely nauseous.

After a moment, he spun on his heel and stormed back into the depths of the cathedral, making his way to the storeroom he started in.

It wasn't as if he had actually expected to run in to anyone on the way down; but Charles thought the corridors were strangely empty, eerie without the small humming light of a nearby mind in the labyrinth that was the hidden part of Notre Dame, deep within the belly of the cathedral.

He wasted no time when he reached the storeroom, flinging open the door and striding across the room to the entrance leading to the square.

But in a moment of hesitation, he stopped, his hand hovering an inch from the handle. Suddenly he was unsure, thinking over what Shaw had said before he had stormed out of the building.

_You will never make it out of here uncaptured, make no mistake about that._

With newfound caution, Charles grasped the brass handle and turned it slowly, his heart hammering an unsteady nervous beat behind his ribs with suspense.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, he cracked the door a fraction, peering around the edge into the back alley it led to.

His stomach dropped to his feet when he encountered an armour clad back, and he grimaced, replacing the wooden door back into its frame as quietly as he could manage, taking a gentle hold on the man's mind, ready to erase any memory of him if necessary.

Gasping out in relief, he slumped against unforgiving stone and attempted to calm his racing heart.

He reached out with his mind, searching for the familiar tenor of his friend's thoughts in the square, but finding none.

Panicking a little, he reached out further, searching for anyone he could communicate with safely and could perhaps provide a way out of his trap.

Eventually, after much searching, he brushed across a mind he knew intimately. She was so far from the square. What was she doing out there and where were the others?

Raven recognised his mind slipping against hers and let him in with wordless joy.

_Charles! _She exclaimed excitedly, _Are you okay? We were so worried!_

He could tell; her mind was awash with an air of concern, leaving her thoughts with a bitter aftertaste and a distracting, nervous buzz, almost undetectable behind the wild, passionate symphony that was her mind.

What Charles hadn't explained to Erik – He had no idea how – was that thoughts were _everything; _it was _sightsoundsmelltastetouch _and _happysadangryconfusion_ all rolled in together in a delicious muddle of noise and flavour. A mind was like a light; but their thoughts were words, songs, music, and senseless noise. But they both had a _taste_ – the thoughts simply having a flavour of the emotion the mind was feeling, but the mind having a deeper, animalistic, primal _smelltasteessence _that was completely unique to every person. Something so _them_ that not even the strongest telepath could change – erase certainly – but never change.

The human mind (and mutant, their minds are no different save telepaths and other psychics) was as beautiful as it was mundane; layers upon layers of routine, regular thoughts that Charles heard millions of times a day, and brilliant little sparks of energy that told the heart to pump and the lungs to breathe. Motor functions that operated on a voiceless level, humming low and constant day to day, with no conscious thought in its direction.

The top layer was the loudest, busiest layer in a brain – practically screaming and pushing itself at his mind, begging to be _heardtouchedsmelledtasted_ and understood. It was the conscious voice of the soul.

People who weren't telepaths or even psychics could use this top cerebral stratum to 'project' into the 'midspace' outside a telepath's mind (for although the deepest, lower levels still remaining contained inside their skulls, telepaths, empaths and other psychics' minds all expanded outwards, not unlike a smoke cloud, covering an area around the centre. Charles, in his studies into himself other psychics referred to this area as the 'midspace', or the 'range' of the psychic. The size of the range depended on the power of the mutant. Charles had the largest midspace he had ever discovered by a wide margin).

In simpler terms, projecting was much like shouting out in someone's hearing range, impossible to miss unless actively being ignored or blocked. More proficient projectors could direct their projecting to a single telepath alone, without any other telepaths hearing them (unless reading the projectors mind at the moment of projecting, for only with powerful mental blocks can one truly project unheard to a telepath whilst another was in their head), even if they were projecting whilst in their midspace. Projecting images or memories was a different skill to simply projecting words – It was not difficult with practice, but the exact mechanics were a little trickier to do than speaking through projection.

Raven had had years of practice, and she had projecting down to a fine art.

Giving Charles a quick mental shove to bring him out of his scientific stupor, she began to share images of their friends after Charles had disappeared; Logan, drawing and retracting his claws repeatedly, growling at everyone but Raven (and the young children – he may be aggressive, crude and sometimes bloody vicious, but Logan had a huge soft spot for small children)

Edie, the little teleporter, disappearing and reappearing every time a bout of nervous hiccups overcame her, asking after Charles with big brown eyes, making Logan melt, wishing he could help the 'poor duck'.

Mrs. Cassidy and her many red-headed children; all jabbering and fussing non stop, placating each other and worrying incessantly. Sean, one of Charles' 'pupils' and the only one of the Cassidy Clan which couldn't control his mutation (although he was by far the most powerful), was especially concerned; releasing supersonic screeches at random, much to his – and his mother's – distress.

_We were bullied from the square. _Explained Raven when she had finished sharing. _That's why we aren't there. We all split up so the guards would have a smaller target if they decided to come looking for us._

Charles sent a chagrined, apologetic pulse of thought.

_Yeah, you'd better be sorry. Apparently, sticking up for that Other Guy didn't go down too well with Shaw._

Charles grimaced, thinking of the havoc that could potentially have been wreaked in his absence. _Is everyone alright? _He asked. _I am so terribly sorry._

He felt a flicker of amused acceptance through Raven's mind before she spoke again. _Everyone's fine. As soon as Shaw vanished into the church, that rich lady – who fancied you, she did honestly whydontyoubelievemeidiot – made sure that everyone got out without a scratch. _

_I see. _He'd have to find a way to thank the mysterious woman; he shuddered to think of the damage that could have been caused had she not ran interference. Now, back to business. _Can anyone come and get me? _He asked, sending an image of his location and the guards surrounding the entrances.

Raven mentally grimaced, _They wont let any of us anywhere near the square, we've tried – and I sent Edie home; she was tired and frightened, she needed rest. Can you reach her from here?_

_No, The Court is out of my range; even pushing myself, my midspace does not reach that far yet, despite the rate at which it is expanding. But you made a wise choice with sending her home, Love. You are a good leader. _

He heard her preen under the praise, and flicked him a flippant _Show off. You know not all of us are as powerful as you. _

Charles chuckled and sent her a pulse of affection. _I shall take that as a compliment. I could ask Erik if he knows of any way out of here that no one knows about…_

He stalled at the pulse of _supriseamusementtease_ from Raven, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

_What?_

_So he's 'Erik' now is he? _She asked, a teasing lilt to her tone, barely hiding the genuine curiosity in her thoughts.

_I don't understand._

_Not 'The Bell Ringer' not 'The Other Guy' but 'Erik'?_

_He does have a name, you know. _He said, letting his irritated voice bleed through, _I'm not sure what you're implying._

Raven smirked and sent an image of two men, rutting up desperately against each other, sweaty and naked. The men were Charles and Erik.

Of course she had a few details wrong – She'd only ever seen Erik from afar – his hair wasn't precisely that shade; it had less blonde and a tad more red, his eyes weren't the cool sea green Charles loved, but a harsh blue which seemed wrong in his face, and she had made him an inch or two too short. Height wise. Not in _that_ -

_Get that thought out of your head, Xavier, _He chastised himself, desperately trying to push Raven's image right out of his head.

My God it was hard. H-Hard to get the image out of his head, not… O_h blimey…_

_Okay! Okay! I get the idea! _He growled. Charles realised he was panting, his mouth had gone dry, and he was alone. There was no naked Erik anywhere in the dingy storeroom. Damn.

_Well? _She asked expectantly, _Do you?_

_How do you even know if I… go for… men?_

She snorted, _Oh please, I have known you for years. What makes you think I don't know everything about my big brother?_

_**I**__ didn't even realise I was… homosexual,_ it felt weird admitting it to his sister. Admitting it out loud, even. _Until today. _He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

_Oh Charles, how many women have you laid? _She asked, her tone affectionate.

… _none. _He admitted, a little embarrassed.

_And how many have you ever expressed interest in? A proper interest, mind you – an interest meaning you wanted to take her there and then regardless of the repercussions. _Okay, now he was blushing. He couldn't _believe_ he was having this conversation with his baby sister.

His pause was longer this time._ … none. _He heard a pulse of satisfaction. _Oh, Christ. I have been like this all along haven't I? _He asked, a little distressed.

_Well, I suspected after travelling with you for a year. Logan and I have discussed it at great length. _Her voice was teasing again.

He groaned. _So am I the last person to know I'm gay then? _Raven giggled.

_Oh no, only Logan and I know. But that's because we are your best friends and know __**you**__ rather than Professor Xavier, teacher of unruly mutants. _She laughed again.

_I hate you sometimes._

_Yeah, I love you too. Now go see if your boyfriend can get you out of there. I'm sure Logan will want to tease you as well when I tell him of your little self-discovery._

She severed the connection without waiting for his reply, and placed up her mental blocks so he couldn't plant the sarcastic retort straight into her head.

He growled his irritation, of _course_ she would tell _Logan_ – the man who had made more grown men cry than should be possible. He was so going to hell.

Sighing, he made his way out of the winding corridors and back to the nave, glancing around with his eyes and mind. Once he was sure he wasn't being watched, he slid up the stairs to Erik's tower, his heart thumping nervously, excited to see the man so soon.

He reached the top of the stairwell and hesitated in the open doorway. Should he announce his presence? How? Cough? Give him a little mental shove?

He peeked around the door blocking most of the room from view, and came across who he was searching for. He paused for a moment and watched as Erik bent over his worktable, fiddling with a chunk of metal, his head bowed with concentration.

"Uh…" He began, causing Erik to leap to his feet, spinning around with a fearful look on his face, thrusting the thing he was working on behind his back. Charles stared at him, a little shocked at the turmoil of fear and respect pulsing from Erik's mind. Upon setting eyes on him, Erik visibly relaxed, his eyes softening and a (very, very toothy. Lord, surely normal people didn't have that many) wide delighted smile stretching at his lips, crinkling his eyes at the corners.

"Charles? I thought you left!" Charles gave him a sheepish look.

"That what I wanted to talk to you about actually… I ah… Can't leave." Erik's smile faltered a little, his brow furrowing.

"Can't?"

"Well, uh, there are guards… at every door. Apparently I'm now a fugitive that warrants a siege – on a bloody cathedral." his voice was scathing, he was sure he sounded thoroughly pissed off – which was rude. He certainly didn't want Erik thinking Charles didn't enjoy his company; that would be counterproductive, but he really needed to get home. He had responsibilities.

Erik frown grew deeper, seeming to contemplate for a moment. "You helped me. I'll help you." He said with conviction, placing what was behind his back onto his worktable and striding out onto the balcony.

A little taken aback, Charles hurried after him, sparing a glance at the object. It was a figurine of someone, only half finished; but the part that had been completed was a burnished blue. When he took a closer look he stopped walking for a moment, he was stunned to find a tiny unfinished replica of himself. His heart swelled unexpectedly.

A couple of bleary-eyed blinks later, Charles caught up with Erik as he leaned dangerously over the side, so comfortable almost hanging upside down off the brick wall. Charles' heart was in his throat the entire time.

"Be careful, Erik." He warned, placing a steadying hand on the small of the other man's back, like it would prevent him from falling. It was more a reassurance to himself than anything that could actually steady the man; but he still felt better to be touching Erik than not touching him at all.

He was rewarded when Erik tilted his head to the side, looking up at Charles from his hanging position from the wall, a wide (no, seriously, Charles was pretty sure people did _not _have that many teeth) dangerous looking grin splitting his features. Charles' heart leapt into a gallop.

"Want to try something fun?" Erik asked him with an uncharacteristic confidence that had Charles floundering a little. The way his jade eyes sparkled suited him, and instinctively, Charles knew he was getting a glimpse into the man Erik would have been without Shaw dogging his footsteps; the man Erik still had the potential to become.

And, God he was beautiful. The small flash of self-assurance, sarcasm and the daredevil streak had Charles knowing Erik had the full capability to be something more than the loving, lonely little boy Shaw had neglected. Oh, how Charles wanted that for him.

Of course, Charles' heart now a pool of mushy sentimentality, he just couldn't resist Erik (could he ever?), and with a dry throated swallow, he nodded.

Erik's answering grin was dazzling.

Caught up in the captivating stretch of that mouth, Charles hadn't realised Erik had reached for him until he had been pulled right into his space, and strong hands beginning to grip his arms to manipulate them around his neck.

"Get on my back." Erik grunted when Charles startled, shying like an edgy colt. "I'm not going to bite; I'm not that savage."

His heart hammering, he did as Erik requested, mumbling almost absently whilst he got into position, "You're not savage at all…"

Erik laughed gently at Charles' distraction, and Charles could feel the soft shake of his body through his thighs, and the rhythmic expand and contract of the man's ribcage. It felt frighteningly intimate to be this close and with so much of their bodies touching.

That thought quickly flew out of Charles' head though when Erik stepped lithely onto the wall.

"Erik…" He breathed in a warning tone, gripping the man tighter with his thighs and arms, but trying not to choke him in the process.

"Don't be afraid." He said; looking over his shoulder at the man clung to his back.

"I'm not afraid." Erik smirked before turning back to the open night.

He jumped.

The wind stung and whipped his hair around his face as they fell, and Charles couldn't help the shout that escaped his lips. Screwing his eyes shut, he gasped into Erik's neck.

It was electrifying. His stomach rushed up to his throat as the mighty force of gravity pulled them at an alarming, breathtaking speed. Despite his weight being plastered to Erik's back, he felt like he had been left behind at the start of their fall - their bodies moving too fast for his mind to catch up.

After seconds – it felt like hours, days even; they moved so fast that time seemed to stand still – he felt his organs gently fall back into their natural positions, and the wind did not seem as strong against his body. It took a moment before Charles realised they were slowing, and when he did a relief ran through him more profound than he had ever felt.

Wait… _Slowing?_

Tearing his face reluctantly from its shelter in the juncture between Erik's neck and shoulder, he peered around to find they had indeed slowed.

Looking down, he saw Erik's hands splayed, palms down, as if to push himself – and by extension, Charles – away from the earth. Two shining bronze bands snaked up each of his arms, and Charles realised it was these, applied with the power of Erik's ability which held them as they floated gracefully down.

Charles' heart was beginning to calm from his frantic pulse, and his breathing had slowed to a more reasonable, less flustered pace as they landed with a soft bump onto a bronze plinth 10 feet from the cobbled ground.

A little way off, four guards stood, looking away from them with stoic faces and stiff postures. Charles slid quietly from Erik's back, trying not to attract notice whilst keeping his hands gripped onto the other man's arms as he steadied him, one large hand holding his elbow, and the other placed gingerly on his waist.

"Uh. You okay?" Erik whispered sounding a little concerned. It took Charles a moment to figure out he was swaying slightly, his eyes wide and bugging. He chuckled quietly and shook his head, clearing his thoughts whilst motioning the negative.

It was like Erik had shed his newfound confidence and left it at the top of the tower – as before, he was shy and nervous.

"I hope I didn't scare you." He mumbled, looking out into the night with a light frown in his face and Charles couldn't help the affectionate smile that spread across his expression, and the warm swelling of his heart.

_Not for an instant._ He replied silently, fondly. With a gentle sigh, Erik turned to Charles and murmured, "I won't forget you, Charles." His sea green eyes were intense and lonely.

A man like this, someone so good – misguided and under the influence of a terrible, terrible man, but with such a warm, tender heart – should never think he is alone in this world. He bit his lip.

"Come with me!" Charles blurted, a flicker of hope tingling across his skin. He watched, as Erik's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

"Uh, I- _What?_" Charles resisted the urge to peak into Erik's mind and see exactly his reaction to that statement, but he would not break his morals for something so selfish.

"To The Court of Miracles!" He elaborated, watching carefully the emotions dancing across the other man's jade coloured eyes. "Leave this place."

To his surprise, Erik's jaw locked and he looked away with hard eyes. "Oh, no. I'm never going back out there again." He replied, surly. "You saw what happened today." He lamented, turning back to Charles. His gaze had softened somewhat. "No. _This _is where I belong." He ran a long finger over the bronze below them.

Sensing that any line of reasoning would get him nowhere at the moment, Charles resorted to plan B; he wasn't letting Erik escape that easily. "All right," He conceded, "I'll come here."

Erik's startled expression was back with a vengeance. "Here?" He asked, a little flustered. "B-but the soldiers, a-and Shaw…"

"I'll come after sunset." He countered with a cheeky grin.

Erik was stammering now, his cheeks flushed with a light blush, "A-a-at sunset, I ring the evening mass, and-and after that, I clean the cloisters, and t-then I ring the vespers, and-"

Charles couldn't help it, he really couldn't; Erik was just being cute. So, he silenced him with a chaste kiss to his lips.

It was soft, sweet and everything Charles had hoped for. Erik tasted _divine_, like clean air and something metallic and _Erik,_ not dissimilar to the unique flavour of his mind. Then the floodgates opened, and the man was thinking loud enough to wake the dead. _Ach, Scheiße, er küsste mich, mein Gott, er küsste mich. WassollichtunWassollichtunWa ssollichtun?! _

Whilst the phrase _Was soll ich tun _ran like a mantra through the man's head, Charles noticed that Erik's face had gone slack with surprise and – Okay, Charles had peeped a little, but he could be forgiven this once, right? – bliss.

But there was also a heavy weight of fear there too; what he wanted warring with the weighty image of Shaw, the bible and a distant view of a man burning alive – he needed to be handled gently then; the man felt little more than a confused, frightened, _elated _boy.

A split second later, Charles was caught up in a wave of giddy relief which was not his own, and he watched Erik blush further, the tips of his ears a beetroot red. "Whatever's good for you." He murmured shyly.

Charles tried to hold off his own sweep of triumph that threatened to drown him; Erik needed to know how to find him - just in case. He lifted a pendant from beneath his shirt and handed it to him, whispering the old saying mutant mothers whispered to their children at night, as they played with their own talismans. "'When you where this woven band, you hold the city in your hand.' Use this if you need to find me, if you need sanctuary."

Erik's fingers closed over it and he looked down at the pendant, then to the group of guards below them, calculating. He was squinting into the falling darkness, glaring with a slightly unfocused gaze down the road. A couple of seconds passed before an almighty crash resounded across the cobbles. Jumping with surprise, the guards below them sprung into action, sprinting down the street and away from the two mutants hidden right above their heads.

Charles looked over to Erik with a smile, amusement stretching his lips into an impossibly wide grin. The other man was staring after them, a smug smirk twisting his mouth and his eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"Thank you, my friend." Charles cooed, "That was ingenious!" Erik's skin heated again at Charles' praise, his eyes sliding to Charles without ever turning his face from the night. After staring out of the corner of his eyes for a long minute, Erik's eyes slid down to gaze at Charles' mouth, his jaw slackening ever so slightly and his eyes darkening a little.

"Hmm," He hummed, pulling his gaze back up to Charles' eyes. "Until next time, Charles." He murmured, echoing Charles' earlier farewell with a flicker of sadness through those green eyes.

Charles tried to resist, he really did; but he was never a man strong against temptation, especially something as tempting as this. Peering into Erik's mind, he was suddenly drowning in thought and emotion.

_Nonono- _Erik's voice whispered, _nono-don'tleave-pleasestaystaywithmeplease-Idon'twanttobealoneagain-comebacksoonohpleasecomeback -_

_I will come back. I promise. _He murmured gently, silently, whilst leaning up to press his lips to the other man's mouth. Erik's thoughts quietened and pulsed with happiness as his hands fell in a light grip around Charles' waist, holding him there for a bit longer.

_I wish this would last forever._ He projected quietly, as if half wanting Charles not to hear.

_Yes, _Charles murmured, "me too." _I have to go, Erik. _

The other man released him with a sigh and a final squeeze before tenderly pressing his mouth to Charles' one last time and stepping away. The bronze bands Erik had used to get them down slithered off the metalbender's wrists and snaked up Charles', lifting him half a foot in the air and over the ledge and the ten-foot drop.

_Goodbye, Charles_ he heard as he was lowered gracefully onto the cobbled street.

_Goodbye. _He replied, pushing a small feeling of regret that he had to leave towards Erik, before running off into the night.

Erik watched him disappear as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

oOo

Sebastian startled when he heard a meaty fist pound frantically against his door. Growling, he stalked across the room and flung it open so it bounced off the wall with a dull thud.

"Minister Shaw," A breathless lackey greeted, "The telepath has escaped."

He looked at the soldier fidgeting nervously in the doorway with an unveiled horror and outrage. "_What?"_ he hissed.

"He's nowhere in the cathedral," the man gulped, "He's gone."

"But _how_, I-" he narrowed his eyes speculatively. He had known this man was a sneaky bastard; it had just never occurred to him that Xavier would be that cunning to deceive _him._ "Never mind. Get out, you idiot. I'll find him – I'll find him if I have to burn down all of Paris!" He declared with a snarl, slamming the door back into place with ferocity.

Turning back to the statue of The Virgin Mary, he growled, "You see? No one should have been able to escape! No one!" fury and disappointment curled sourly in his stomach; this wasn't going to be as simple as he had once thought. _No matter, _he mused, _the feisty ones are more fun to __**break.**_

"Now, mutant, its your turn." He sneered, "choose me or your pyre; be mine I will burn you."

He sank to his knees and closed his eyes, his mind serene with calm anticipation.

"God, have mercy on him." _God, have mercy on __**me**_.

_But he will be mine. He will._

_Or else he will burn._

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**So, now you've met the author, would you mind telling her what you think of her story so far?**

**Thank you to both my first reviewer and my first follower! You have each made one shitty weekend, shitless. So to speak. Ahem.**

**I apologise about sporadic updates for those who have been waiting for updates, RL has been getting in the way – and a new year at uni is really beating the hell out of me, and all of my free time (which I don't really have) goes into writing this!**

**Anyway! Reviews are love 3 **


	6. Chapter 5

**Judging by the movie **_**The Hunchback of Notre Dame**_**, I should be about halfway through the story – but this is where I go AWOL and fiddle with the timelines and add various bits and feels, yes, plenty of feels. Plus I predict the action, subplots and bamf!Erik scenes to go on for a couple of chapters all together (at the very least one and a half) so I would say I am at least close the halfway mark now! **

**Introducing a new POV – Alex Summers takes the stage and tells us the next part of our story. **

**Review, please, please, please, please, please, please, please? I love comments/reviews, favourites and follows – they make my day 3**

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Alex stood dutifully by his mistress's side, shooting dark looks at any of the other guards milling around waiting for that bastard Shaw, whenever they looked too long or the wrong way at the Lady. Some – intelligently – backed down, and looked away with a scowl; others did not, instead glaring back with defiant stares that said 'fight you for it, bitch'. Ha. That was fine, Alex didn't care if they speculated that there was something between Moira and himself; in fact he didn't care what they thought at all.

Truthfully, the relationship he and the Lady McTaggart shared was approaching more towards the unprofessional, and it wasn't the first time someone had been under the impression that there was something going on. Yes, she was his confidante, being so much more accepting of his secret than anyone else had ever been, and yes, he treated her with more kindness and affection than he'd ever shown anyone (aside his brother) in his life – usually being a young man of the brusque, sarcastic nature – but he had never, _could_ never entertain those kinds of feelings for her.

Moira McTaggart was his saviour; she had not only convinced the guards that the fiery red plasma ring they saw blasting across the training yard, was a freak lightning strike – common occurrences in the unseasonably warm, humid weather that summer – But she had also taken him in, given him a job he had been desperate to do, that was well away from the frustrations the other soldiers gave him and far, far away from anything to do with the Witch Hunts.

For Alex was a mutant; and he was the dangerous kind. He could blast a man's head off without much effort and slice through most metal as easy as a knife through butter. The nature of his ability was possibly one of the most applicable to the army he had encountered. Despite the hatred and unrest among the normal people towards people like him, he wanted to serve his country, serve Paris and his king. Moira had given him the opportunity to do just that, all the while knowing exactly who he was and what he could do.

With all but one – his little brother, Scott, and even he was in hiding somewhere in the depths of Paris – of his family dead, Moira was the closest thing he had to a sister. She was not without her challenges; choosing to engage in protests and political debates regarding mutants, and defending them and their rights. If she were a common woman, she would have been in the stocks almost daily; he would prefer it if she just kept her head down.

But she wouldn't be the amazing woman she was if she was a demure little creature content to sit and look pretty.

Looking over to her with something like affection, he watched her as she stood with her head high and her eyes sharp, watching the wandering guards like a hawk.

There was a clatter of hooves across stones as Shaw's carriage thundered up to them, grinding to a halt with a creak of wheels and whinny of horses.

Alex's eyes narrowed when Shaw stepped out of the carriage; he was haggard, exhausted, with dark purple shadows circling his eyes and his skin pale and creased.

"Good morning, Sir." Moira greeted with a small curtsey, which Shaw echoed with a nod of his head. "Are you alright?" She asked, her shrewd gaze taking in his appearance.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, heaving an irritated sigh. "I had a little trouble with the fireplace." Moira's eyes narrowed at this, giving him an odd, almost speculative look. Alex resolved to ask her what the problem was when they were alone.

"I see." She murmured, still looking speculative, "you asked to see me, Sir?"

Shaw straightened, raising his chin with a hard smile, and his eyes like flint. "Find the mutant boy."

oOo

Moira watched with an uneasy gaze as Shaw's guards stormed the mill, effectively destroying the machinery and workstations whilst ignoring the anguished pleading of the workmen as they watched their work get demolished.

"No! Please! Our work! We have families – children! Our work! Where will we get the money now?!" Shaw ignored them, watching the proceedings with a bland stare.

"Over here!" There was a shout from the back of the mill-house. Heads whipped up, and the guards surged towards the voice like moths to a flame. Feeling Alex tense up beside her, she craned her neck to get a better view of the commotion further down the room.

A group of young men and women – some very obviously mutants were pulled out of a trap door in the floor. Shaw shot a dark look at the mill-owner; it was an expression which spelled danger and Moira was briefly (selfishly) glad she was not the one on the receiving end.

"You know it is illegal to hire mutants, Miller." He growled at the man who was cowering under the black glare.

"I-I needed more workers, and mutants- well, they'll do it for a lower price and- and they're good workers. I needed the money and-" Shaw made a disgusted sound in his throat, and looked away as if the man was nothing more than something distasteful that he had stepped in.

"Arrest him." He snarled, scowling at the mutants still being pulled out of the hole in the floor.

"No! No, please! I swear I meant no harm! Please! You can't do this! You can't-" He was cut off suddenly by a worn leather thong, tied roughly against his mouth, silencing his speech.

"Line them up." He continued, issuing orders like he hadn't just ruined so many families' livelihood in one fell swoop; mutant and human alike. Moira felt mildly sick.

The guards followed his barked directions like a well-oiled machine, each guard clicking into place like a jigsaw, tugging and pulling the mutant men and women into a rough line.

Shaw surveyed them wordlessly with a cold glare, watching his prisoners squirm and fidget fearfully under his frosty gaze. "I will give you ten pieces of silver for the telepath, Xavier." He said smoothly, and Moira watched as every last one of the mutant's heads shot up, some glaring, others not, but each had their lips firmly sealed and she had to admire their loyalty. It was something she lacked within the ranks of her own men at home.

Shaw snarled when he received no answer, swirling his cloak around his ankles and storming out of the mill with an order to "Lock them up!" thrown angrily over his shoulder.

Moira watched the prisoners being marched out with sadness in her heart.

oOo

They had raided a caravan next, seemingly tearing it apart at the seams in their attempt to find something of the young telepath. Alex hated that he could do nothing, his stomach heavy with the knots twisting inside it, as fear for his young brother warped his guts. What if he was found? What would he do then?

People were one by one being pulled out of the caravan, each struggling against the guards holding them; aside from one little girl with jade green hair who was sobbing miserably under the rough handling of the man towering above her.

It broke his heart, which was already crawling with worry inside his chest. _That could have been me,_ He whispered to himself; _that could have been Scott._ But still he did nothing but stand steadfastly at his Lady's side, trying hard to keep his expression as blank as Shaw's as the other men pushed the mutant's caravan off the bridge and into the river.

"No!" The father cried, holding onto his wife as she sobbed into his chest, "Our home!" The girl hiccupped fearfully beside them.

"Shut up!" Shaw barked, making them jump and stunning them into silence. "I will give you twenty pieces of silver for the location of the telepath, Charles Xavier."

The father growled and bared his teeth, pressing a possessive hand into his whimpering daughter's shoulder. "We will never help you!" He vowed. Alex could have smacked his hand to his forehead in that moment. With the mood Shaw was in, he was sure that response had irrevocably led the man and his family to the pyre.

Shaw looked down on them with a disgusted glare. "Take them away." He ordered, flinging himself atop his horse and turning it away with an angry jerk.

Alex sighed and turned from the family, clutching at one another and pleading at Shaw's retreating back, feeling physically ill at the fate that awaited them.

May God have mercy on their souls.

oOo

It was raining, which was just his luck. He was getting sick of wandering around, searching for a mutant who most likely, if he was smart – which all the reports suggested that he was – was long out of the city by now. It had been a week; a week of him and his comrades tearing down Paris in search of this man. None of them knew why Minister Shaw had gotten his pantaloons in a twist over this specific mutant; and none of them dared to ask.

But what did he know? He was just a nameless, faceless soldier among the ranks; he wasn't worth anything to either his superiors or Shaw and so his right to an opinion was entirely none-existent.

Growling through his chattering teeth (He was cold and wet goddammit, and this was supposed to be his week off) he hefted his shield further up his arm. If he had his way, he'd be home with the Missus and their gorgeous little new-born. Jesus, he hated those fucked up muties as much as the next guy, but he had a life, for fuck's sake.

They all trudged up the road, most, like him, complaining that they had been taken away from their holidays early because that bastardShaw had run their comrades to exhaustion. There were a few from the previous regiment that were still standing though, and he'd never seen anyone look so _tired._ Bloody hell, the crazy man was going to work them all to death at this rate.

His internal rant halted as their destination – a large, rundown looking windmill with holes in the roof and a couple of glassless windows – appeared over the hill. It was a well-known place, owned by a jovial friendly man, more altruistic and kind than anyone he'd ever met, even to those who didn't deserve it.

Some of his comrades next to him shuffled uncomfortably, and whispered. They all knew why they were here, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"But he's never harmed anyone!" protested a dark haired man beside him, quietly.

Another nodded beside him, and breathed, "Shaw's gone mad!"

Minister Shaw stepped up from the crowd, ignoring the whispering of his guard behind him. His fist connected heavily with the door three times, accompanied by a dying down of the murmuring, everyone watching with baited breath.

The door was opened by a little boy, with light blond hair and an angelic, happy smile. It faltered a little when he saw the minor army amassed behind Shaw.

"Um – do you want to see my Papa?" The boy asked with a little nervous wobble in his voice. Shaw didn't answer, instead, pushing past the boy into the windmill, and clicking for a few guards to join him.

Everybody looked around at each other; nobody wanting to go. This guy was innocent, they all knew it, and nobody wanted to have that on their conscious.

The woman – pretty, dark haired, rich – followed in after Shaw, discreetly handing the boy a silver coin and offering a pat on the head. His estimation of her flew up about three notches.

The decision on who went was made for them when Shaw marched out of the windmill, the owner hovering in the doorway with a confused expression.

"I don't understand, Monsieur, what have I done to offend you?" The father questioned as his wife approached behind his shoulder.

Shaw growled and turned on his heel, looking at the man with a haughty glare. "We found this mutant talisman on your property. Have you been harbouring the scum? Well? Explain yourself!" He cried, ignoring the little boy who was now cowering behind his mother's legs.

The man spread his hands and looked up at Shaw with an honest expression. "Our home is always open to the weary traveller, mutant or not. It would be a sin and unkind to turn a man away if he was hungry and cold; you might as well sign their death warrant."

Shaw looked at the man with an appraising look. "I am placing you under house arrest until I get to the bottom of this. If what you say is true and you are innocent of everything but misplaced kindness, then you have nothing to fear."

The man's jaw hardened and he glared at Shaw. "You will find nothing to say I am guilty of helping them hide from the law."

Shaw nodded and slammed the door shut on the man's face, and he and his comrades watched in disbelief as he grabbed a spear and barred the door with it. There was a low hiss of disbelief from the gathered soldiers.

Turning to the woman's personal guard, Shaw spat, "Burn it." The kid's (He could barely be more than eighteen) eyes widened and his gaze flickered to his mistress as she gasped "_what?_"

"Until it smoulders," He said, turning to the woman, "these people are traitors and must be made an example of."

The boy spoke up. "With all due respect, _Sir,_ I was not trained to murder the innocent." The woman shot him a proud glance. That kid had balls.

Shaw however, wasn't as impressed, "But you _were_ trained to follow _orders_, Summers."

The boy, Summers, grimaced and backed towards the house, his gaze flickering between Shaw and his mistress, who was watching with wide disbelieving eyes.

Everybody tensed up, watching with bated breath as Summers was handed a burning torch and raised it, as if to set the thatched roof on fire. Sighs of relief and nervous laughter rung out across the deadly silence as Summers plunged the torch into a barrel of rainwater with a smug smirk.

"Insolent coward." he hissed, snatching a second torch off one of the other guards and marching up to the windmill, setting it alight with ease. It caught quickly, the fire spreading instantly up the roof and onto the fabric of the paddles of the windmill going around.

There was a child's scream from inside the burning building.

"Alex!" The woman shouted, gazing at the flaming windmill with a horrified expression on her face. But Summers was already moving, leaping through the window and disappearing behind the flames, seeming to ignore the lady's shouts of "Be Careful!"

There was a minute of chaos and shouting, and Shaw was wearing a thunderous look which would rival a God's.

Barely a minute later, the door was kicked open and Summers came storming out, the little boy in his arms followed by the man and his wife. As soon as they were safe, he handed the child over, and coughed, trying to expel the smoke from his lungs.

"Monsieur Summers," Shaw growled, "How _dare _you…"

He, the nameless guard stepped forwards at a signal Shaw waved with his hand and with a sick feeling in his stomach, he beat Summers over the head with the pommel of his sword.

oOo

Charles winced as the sword came into contact with the young man's head, a sick sounding crunch echoing through the night. Shaw was mounting his horse, adding yet more height between the fallen man and himself, with a smugly satisfied grin painting his features.

"The sentence for insubordination is death," Shaw sneered, gazing down his nose at the fallen man.

"What, no!" shouted the Lady, fury evident in her stance. "He is my personal guard and friend. I will not allow it!"

Charles heard Shaw emit a dark chuckle, and he felt like an ice cube had been dropped down his spinal column. "When he is among _my_ ranks, My Lady," He commented with a pretentious air, "he plays by _my_ rules." He motioned to one of the guards to step forward, and Charles caught the panicked thoughts of the guard hefting the sword to swing the death-blow.

_Ididnotsignupforthis-nothingwrong-whatifthatwasmyfamily-ohgodcan'tdoitcan'tdisobeyshouldn'thavetosorry-_

Charles reacted on instinct, the _rushstreamcacophony _of thoughts jarring him into action. He scooped down and plucked a sharp stone from the ground, placing it into his money collecting cap like a slingshot, spinning it wide over his head before releasing the stone into the air with a wild swing. It soared through the smoky dusk and landed sharply on the flank of Shaw's horse.

As predicted, the horse baulked, rearing and unseating its rider, throwing him to the ground with a splat. To the young Summers' credit, he was fast to react, leaping to his feet and using the sharp of his elbow to clobber the guard restraining him in the face.

In a matter of seconds the young man had thrown himself atop Shaw's stallion, tugging the Lady McTaggert up to sit in front of him. Charles gleaned the direction of their escape from Summers' mind and started running.

"Shoot him," He heard Shaw shout, "But don't hit my horse!" Charles was sprinting as fast as he could, following the trail of the pair's minds as they galloped onto the bridge. It was because he was connected to Summers' that he felt a phantom shadow of pain pierce his right shoulder before he saw the young man tumble off the horse and over the railing into the water.

Trusting that McTaggert could steer the horse and herself out of harm's way – seeing as it wasn't really her they were after anyway – Charles swerved, changing his course down to the muddy banks of the river the man had plunged into.

The guards started shooting arrows blindly into the water, searching for any sign of movement in the murky depths. "Don't waste your arrows!" Shaw shouted, storming towards his posse on the bridge, "Let the traitor rot in his watery grave!"

Charles hid himself in the brambles, his heart thundering and his mind following Summers' unconscious one as he waited for Shaw and his guard to retreat. "Find the telepath," Shaw continued, his voice echoing through the night, "if you have to burn the city to the ground so be it." Charles grimaced at the intent in Shaw's poisonous mind, waiting desperately until his hiding spot was out of the attacker's eye-line.

A torturous few seconds later, he was in the clear and was half sprinting, half sliding down the embankment to the water's edge. Ignoring the icy needles of the cold water, he waded through the shallows and stole his breath for the plunge towards Summers' mind. His face stung from the cold, and he couldn't see through the murk in the water. He reached out blindly, feeling through the darkness for anything of the boy to grab hold of. Eventually, his fingers tangled with the boys hair, and on instinct, he tugged. Hauling the blonde's dead weight, he tried to lift the man's head above the water. It was hard; he wasn't very strong and the boy was heavier than he looked. He felt a mind enter his close range, as he pulled him from the water to the embankment. Reaching out automatically, he prepared to defend himself, only to find himself face to face with a panic-stricken Lady McTaggert.

"Is he okay?" She hissed as Charles tugged the unconscious body out of the frigid water.

"I think so…" Charles replied, hesistantly, "but I'm no doctor. He's still breathing though, so I think he'll be fine. We just need to get him warmed up."

The woman nodded, her jaw hard and eyes sparkling fiercely. "We have nowhere to go," She murmured, "We will be caught if we return to our rooms."

"Not to worry," He soothed, "there is plenty of room at the Court of Miracles; but I fear he will not be able to cope with the journey down in this state."

She looked despairingly down at the boy, "There must be somewhere, please! He's my friend."

Charles studied her for a moment, weighing up his options. Well there was always…

"The safe house we usually would go to has just been destroyed by Shaw, but I suppose I can ask Erik…" He trailed off. It wasn't fair to ask Erik to hide Alex; it would mean he would have to lie to Shaw, and Lord knows that he didn't like doing that. But he had too. There was no one else.

"I have a place." He announced, uneasiness thrumming in his breast.

oOo

The city was filled with screaming, crying. The voices of the unholy ringing out through the night as flames licked up buildings like tongues caressing a lover's skin.

Shaw was interrupted from his dark musings by his second, riding up beside him, soot up the side of his face and a wild, fearful gleam in his eye.

"Sir," He said, breathless and hoarse from the smoke filling the sky, "We've searched everywhere, burned down buildings and whole streets to try and smoke him out; but still we can't find him." Shaw growled at the news, and waved the man away.

But how? He'd had the entire cathedral surrounded, with guards at every door. There was no way he could have escaped… Unless…

He threw his gaze upwards towards the bell tower looming over Paris.

Unless…

Erik.

oOo

"This doesn't look good." Azazel commented, looking over the burning streets with a grimace.

"It's hopeless… Absolutely hopeless." Janos groaned.

"You're telling me," Emma watched the villagers swarm with desperate panic all over the city. "Even the birds have fled."

"Never mind the birds! What about that poor telepath boy!" cried Janos, "I'm beginning to fear the worst."

Azazel turned and waved a finger at Janos, "Now don't you go saying anything to upset Erik, he's worried enough already."

"Yeah, you're right," Emma agreed with a vigorous head nod, "we'd better lighten up."

"Shh!" Janos hissed, "He's coming!"

"Be calm…" Erik's light tread came up behind them.

"Any sign of him?" He said, his eyes alight with concern.

Azazel could see Janos' lips quivering, before he let out with a wail, "It's a lost cause! He could be anywhere - In the stocks, in the dungeon, on the rack hook!" He clasped his hand over his mouth, stopping the tirade of doubts and fears welling up.

"Nice going." Emma rolled her eyes.

"No," Erik said, his face creasing with anxiety, "he's right, what are we going to do?"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Emma chirped, attempting to lighten the mood, "If I know Charles, and I think I do, He'll be three steps ahead of Shaw and well out of harm's way."

Erik turned, hope burning in his chest. "You really think so?"

"When things cool off, she'll be back." Az grinned.

"What makes you so sure?" Emma laughed,

"Because she likes you! We always said you were the cute one." She chuckled, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Take it from us, Erik. You're irresistible!" Erik snorted and shook his head.

"Look," Emma beckoned him to the balcony, "Paris, the city of love is glowing this evening. True, that's because it's on fire, but still there's l'amour." Azazel chuckled, his sense of humour about as evil as his looks.

"Somewhere, his heart is also alight… and I know a guy that she might be burning for…" Emma winked and laughed aloud at Erik's blush.

"A guy like you, I think."

"No, I don't think so." He murmured.

"Sure! A guy like you a guy does not meet every day!" Erik huffed a sigh.

"You're a surprise! I mean, who else can control metal, and look all broody but be such a softy on the inside?" That earned an eye roll.

"Call me a hopeless romantic but, Erik, I feel it."

"Feel what?" Erik asked, with a puzzled glance.

"He wants you, and he could walk through that door at any moment!" He said, sweeping his arm around with a grin.

oOo

"Erik?" Called a voice from down the stairs, it was one he could never forget, even if he tried.

"Whoops." Emma muttered, dragging Janos and Az back to their corner.

"Charles?" He called back, though he knew exactly who it was. He ran out of the room meeting the telepath on the stairs up to his sanctuary. "You're alright? I knew you'd come back!" he exclaimed with glee, wrapping the smaller man into a tight embrace.

"I promised, didn't I?" Charles asked with a quirk of his lips, before his face became sombre. "You have done so much for me already, my friend, but I must ask you for one last favour." He murmured, releasing Erik from his arms and turning back towards the door, swinging it open to reveal a young man – no, boy; he was barely out of his teens – supported by a lady Erik vaguely recognised, with Hank McCoy fumbling nervously behind them.

"Hank?" Erik asked, nonplussed, "What are you doing here?"

"Um-Er…" He mumbled, a blush burning his cheeks.

"He's come to help me, my friend, he's the only doctor I trust."

"Doctor?"

"L-long story." Hank Stammered.

"This is Alex," Charles said, moving to help support the boy, "and this is Moira," he continued, gesturing to the lady on the other side. "He's wounded, and they're both fugitives, like me. He can't go on much longer without medical attention, and I knew he'd be safe here." Charles gazed at him with those large blue eyes, pleadingly. "Please, can you hide him?"

It barely took a moment of deliberation. He would do anything for this man, and besides, the boy looked like he would drop dead if he refused.

"This way." He said gesturing up the stairs. As they passed, Charles graced Erik with an angelic smile which turned his insides to mush, "Thank you, Erik."

He led them to his cot, and helped them set the wounded boy there. He groaned and stirred as they laid him down. "Moira?" The boy – Alex – croaked.

"Shh." She hushed him, "You're going to stay here until you're strong enough to move." Hank moved next to his patient, bringing out a bottle of alcohol.

"Great, I could use a drink." Alex moaned as Hank spilled the spirit over the arrow wound. "Arrgh! Thanks for that, Doc." He hissed, sarcastically.

"Oh, calm down." McCoy said, with more confidence than Erik had ever seen him with, "It's only a bit of a sting." He brought out a needle and pierced the skin beside the wound. Erik turned worriedly when Moira made a choking noise and watched as she marched with an ashen face to the other end of the room, Charles following like a concerned puppy behind her.

Erik watched as Charles stopped her from walking out of the room altogether, and spoke to her in hushed tones. He couldn't make out what he was saying, but weren't they stood a little too close to each other?

He narrowed his eyes and continued to watch as the woman gazed up at Charles wonderingly, irritation grew in his stomach. This annoyance grew into anger and shock as he drew her into a close hug, rubbing a hand up and down her back. Erik took a deep breath, there was nothing to worry about; Charles didn't want her, he was just being comforting and nice, like the saviour he was to everybody.

But Erik's stomach dropped as he watched with wide eyes Charles press a kiss into Moira's forehead, and gazed down at her with soft eyes. He threw up mental walls in an attempt to keep the horror, jealousy and grief from Charles. He should have known.

Charles was too good for him, he always had been. A man like Charles deserved someone beautiful, who he could marry and have a family with, and not hide their relationship from the world in fear of death. So of course, the natural choice would be to court a woman. He should have known, he should have known.

It was obvious now; Charles liked him, sure, but Erik couldn't ever be beautiful, despite what the telepath said, and he certainly couldn't provide him with a home, or a family. But Moira, she could.

They looked good together too, Erik could see that. So wasn't she the logical choice? Of course she was.

Of course.

Not him.

Never him.

_Mien Gott…_

Erik hid his face, which was burning with tears, his mind and his pounding heart from everyone surrounding him, and walked out of the room to watch the flames burn down Paris from his balcony.

Just like his heart burned from his chest, with disappointment and heartbreak.

He should have known.

He – _mien Gott – _He-should have –sh-should have…

He should have never left the goddamned tower.

oOo

**URG. SAD. Sorry guys **

**Reviews + Follows + Favs = LOVE 3**


	7. Interlude - Erik, Charles

**I couldn't help it; I just couldn't.**

**oOo**

_He knew he'd never know that warm glow of affection, of love, despite how much he wanted it. He'd fooled himself; Charles could never be for him. How he'd looked in her arms… It felt wrong; it shouldn't have been her…_

_It shouldn't have been him either. He knew that. It was the unspoken truth – men were not supposed to love men. It was wrong. Filthy. Hideous. _

_Just like him._

_Monsters were never meant for heaven's light._

**oOo**

Charles felt a flare of despair, quickly followed by anger, disappointment, and resignation. But it was cut off just as suddenly, before Charles could discern any real cause for the mental distress.

_Erik?_ He called out mentally, realising with a dull fear that his friend's mind was no longer open to him.

_Erik?! _He called out again, feeling hurt when he could distinguish no danger in the other's minds. Why had he blocked him out? _How_ had he done so?

_Erik, please!_

He was met with cold, unyielding silence.


	8. Chapter 6

**This one's a biggie guys **** Enjoy! Oh yeah, and uni's a bitch. That's my excuse for the lack of update in forever :P **

**oOo**

Charles nervously poked his head around the pillar Erik was hiding behind. "Erik?" He asked, concern evident in the blue of his gaze, "Are you alright? You're… quiet." Erik shuffled, not looking at his friend, ashamed of himself, angry at Charles, envious of the girl - But all behind the invisible walls of his mental armour.

"I'm fine." He grunted, wishing he could ignore Charles' hurt expression at his brusque tone.

"O-oh, okay." He murmured, his voice quivering like a frightened dove.

Erik sighed, and struggled to meet Charles' wounded gaze. When their eyes finally, reluctantly locked, Erik felt a flicker of something in the back of his senses. He turned his concentration to the source, his mind flying through metal.

A bell, nails in wood, latches, screws, the lead in the windows…

Door latch… Hinges swinging… the familiar tang of a golden pocket watch.

"Shaw's coming – you must leave." Charles' open expression morphed into fear, and his eyes landed onto Hank who'd just finished attending to the blonde boy. "I will hide him, Charles. Go!" Charles turned on his heel, racing back to Hank and dragging him away from his patient, ignoring his protests.

He ushered both the young man and the woman towards the door. "No!" Erik shouted, "Through here!" he led the three into the bell-room, and pulled open the trap door in the floor which led to the lower levels of his tower, where they could escape without being seen by Shaw.

Erik and Charles helped them down, handing Hank his medical bag as he shuffled down the wooden ladder to safety. He was about to make his way back onto his room, and hide the blonde boy when a hand gripped his wrist, "Thank you, Erik." Charles whispered, gratitude flowing from every pore of his pale skin. "I will see you soon?" He sounded hesitant; Erik's abrupt turn in behaviour evidently still fresh in his mind.

Erik nodded, lips set in a grim line as he tracked Shaw's pocket watch, leisurely climbing the stairs. As soon as Charles' grip loosened, he sprinted back into his room, pulling the blonde off the cot and shoving him unceremoniously under the bed, ignoring his pained groans.

"Shut up!" Erik hissed, throwing himself onto his cot – he had no time to make the bed, so it was better he lie in it; Erik had been making his bed every day without fail since he was four, it would be suspicious if it wasn't now – "for your own good and mine!"

Shaw was now on the stairs, _Mein Gott, did the boy have to breathe so loudly?_ The door banged open, and Erik startled, sitting up straight in his bed as if he'd not realised his master was coming.

"Master Shaw," He greeted breathlessly, "what are you doing here?" Shaw regarded him with a cold smile.

"Oh, dear boy, I am never too busy to share a meal with you." His cold smile stretched, and Erik had never felt so unnerved by his master before. "I've brought a little… treat." He continued.

There was an awkward pause, before his master lifted an eyebrow and cleared his throat pointedly._ Shit. _

Stumbling over himself, he hurried to get their plates, calling Shaw's silver chalice to him with his power as he snatched his wooden one with his hand. He fumbled with putting them on the table, flustered under Shaw's unimpressed gaze.

"Is there something troubling, Erik?" He blinked and averted the probing gaze and muttered,

"No! No." Erik didn't need to be Charles to feel the disbelief rolling off of his master; he glanced cautiously up, and found Shaw watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, but there is, I know there is." He contradicted, his eyes never wavering from Erik's face as he pulled out a bunch of grapes and sat at the table. Erik watched as one fell to the floor, and rolled, almost in slow motion, towards the boy hidden under his bed.

Struggling not to move suspiciously fast, he walked over to pick it up.

"I think…" Shaw continued, "You're hiding something."

"Oh, no, master!" He protested, "There's nothing –"

"You're not eating, boy." He snapped, watching impatiently as Erik shoved a handful in his mouth, chewing and mumbling through his mouthful of food.

"It's very good. Thank you, Master." Erik's head snapped up when a low moan sounded from under the cot. Shaw didn't seem to have registered it yet, so he replicated the moan loudly, indicating that he enjoyed the food. "Delicious." He hummed. Shaw's cold eyes narrowed and scanned the room.

"What's different in here?" Erik glanced around, worried Charles or Hank had left something behind.

"Nothing, Sir." He passed Erik, wandering over to his workbench, where the unfinished figure of Charles lay.

"Isn't this one new?" He asked, gently, almost reverently, picking up the statue. "It's awfully good. Looks very much like the telepath boy. I know…" A nasty look crept over his face, twisting it into something cruel. "You helped him escape!"

Erik felt his eyes widen, and he panicked, "But, I –"

"And now all of Paris is burning because of you!"

"He – But he was kind to me, Master." He said, bowing his head. Shaw growled and swept a hand over the table setting, flinging it to the ground with an almighty crash.

"You _idiot!_ That wasn't kindness, it was cunning! He's a mutant! They are not capable of real compassion! They cannot love! Think, boy! Or do you not have a brain in that dense skull of yours?" Erik jerked as if he's been slapped.

"W-what?"

His master sighed, and took a moment to compose himself. "But what chance could a poor, ugly child like you have against his evil charms?" Erik could feel himself bristling, and he struggled to remain calm, "Well, no matter, he will be out of our lives soon enough." He lifted the half formed statue from the table and examined it idly as he spoke, "I will free you from his spell, and he will torment you no longer." Erik watched with wide eyes and a heaving chest as Shaw pocketed the figure, turning his frigid gaze back to him.

"Was meinst du?" Erik breathed, panic stealing over his heart.

Shaw's eyes narrowed at Erik's slip into German, but he didn't comment on it, instead answering "I know where his hideout is. I am gathering all my men, and in two days, I attack with four thousand men."

With that, Shaw turned and walked out of the room, leaving Erik staring after him with pain and anger poisoning his mind.

oOo

And so the trap had been laid; Shaw thought it was pretty ingenious. Tell the boy his plan, and he would lead them straight to them. Straight into the ant's nest where he would exterminate them all like the vermin they were.

And he would take Xavier for himself, to warm his bed and do his bidding. The thought was heady, his excitement almost too much to conceal as he strode out of Erik's bell tower, leaving aforementioned mutant, slack-jawed and panicked.

Oh it was perfect.

And once he was done, he could finally destroy Erik, after years of waiting until he fulfilled his purpose. Like a pig to slaughter he would go.

Perhaps he should burn him on the stake with the others, and make his precious telepath watch. Now that would be something.

Contemplating the idea of burning flesh and agonised green eyes, Shaw continued down the stairs to his hiding place, where he knew Erik would pass to lead him straight to The Court of Miracles and the beautiful Charles Xavier.

oOo

No.

Nononononononono no, this couldn't be happening – could it?

Shaw couldn't know where Charles is, could he? But _how?!_ Even Erik didn't know… Or did he?

'_When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hands.'_ Erik frowned and reached into his shirt, pulling out the pendant which was hidden beneath it. _When you wear this woven band… city… Paris?_

Erik snapped around when a loud groan echoed behind him and all the metal in the room quaked in his surprise. "Woah," murmured the blonde, as he eased from his hiding place, "Calm down, man." Erik growled half-heartedly.

"Did you hear what he just said?" the boy continued, ignoring Erik's black glare. He received no response. "We have to find The Court of Miracles and warn your friend before Shaw finds him." He began to walk out of the door, and Erik watched him leave before he paused realising Erik wasn't behind him.

"Are you coming?" He asked, turning back to look at him, his dull blue eyes confused.

Erik dropped his gaze and twined his fingers together, rubbing his palms nervously together. "I can't." The boy practically growled at him, Erik snapped his gaze back to Summers, his eyes narrowed and affronted.

"I thought you were Xavier's friend." He spat, his tone accusatory.

"Shaw is my master." He hissed in return, "I cannot disobey him again."

"He stood up for you! You have a funny way of showing gratitude." Erik wouldn't deign that with an answer. He couldn't, there was no way. He was the one who was stuck here, with nowhere to go, not Summers. He didn't understand. If he betrayed Shaw again, he would make true his past promises and chain him to his cot.

Summers made a hissing sound at the lack of reply, and continued petulantly, "Well I'm not going to sit by and watch Shaw massacre innocent people. You do whatever you think is right." With that, he turned and left, storming out of the door, pressing a hand firmly to his injured side.

Erik felt his metal-sense ripple as his three friends wandered over to him, each with identical disapproving looks of their faces. He could feel the disappointment rolling off their metal bodies. They didn't even have to say anything, Erik knew what they were thinking, and he didn't need Charles' power to know it.

"Look," He started, turning to face his friends, his heart burning with shame and anger at his own cowardice. "What am I supposed to do? Go out there and rescue him from the jaws of death, and the whole town will cheer like I'm some sort of hero?" His voice got louder and louder, despair colouring his words, and his eyes clouding with angry tears. "He already has the love of his life, and it's not me. Shaw was right. He was right about everything. I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not."

Emma, Azazel and Janos shared a meaningful look, before turning back to Erik. Azazel reached over to the hook by the door and grabbed the cloak Erik wore the day of The Feast of Fools. The day he met Charles.

Azazel held out the coat for Erik to take with an unfathomable expression. He hesitated, torn between seeing Charles again despite the girl who'd stolen his attention, protecting him, keeping him safe, and keeping his head down, hiding in his bell tower for the rest of his life.

But would his life mean anything if he did nothing? Would he be able to live with himself, knowing he could have saved Charles, and made sure the girl had a husband she loved? Would he be able to save him, only to let him go?

"I must be out of my mind." He snarled, snatching the coat from Azazel's hand.

oOo

Alex nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure fell to the ground in front of him with a soft thump. He reached for his sword to engage the attacker, only to find it was missing. Cursing, he threw a punch at the shadow as it pulled himself up from a crouch. He heard a low oath and the figure caught his wrist in a strong grip.

"Stop it, you idiot, It's me, Erik. I'm coming with you!" Alex swore whilst pulling his hand from Erik's loosened grip.

"For God's sake, you fucking bastard! Don't do that!" Erik chuckled darkly, his grin wide (too wide, what the fuck?) and sparkling dangerously in the moonlight. Alex shuddered; Erik was one creepy bastard. "Well, I'm glad you changed your mind." He needed creepy where he was going.

"I'm not doing it for you." Erik snarled – seriously, that seemed to be his permanent state. "I'm doing it for him - For Charles."

"You know where he is? Moira went with him; so she'll be there too, won't she?" Erik pulled a face, and nodded, still grimacing.

"I have no doubt she'll be with him, but no, I don't know where they are, but Charles said this would help me find him." He pulled out a pendant from behind his shirt, and held it into the light.

Alex gazed at it confusedly, nodding despite not understanding what it was. "Good, good, good… Great… Um, what is it?"

Erik caught his eye, "Ich weiß nicht." Alex stared at him.

"What?" He received a frustrated sigh.

"I don't know."

"Then why did you say it if you didn't know what it meant?" Erik growled.

"Are you doing that on purpose, because I'm really not in the mood for it right now."

"Doing what on purpose? You said you didn't know!"

"I said I didn't know what this was!" He hissed, gesturing angrily with the pendant, "Ich weiß nicht means 'I don't know', dummkopf."

"What language are you even speaking, man? Seriously, stick to a form of communication that everyone else can understand, got it?" Erik just scowled and turned over the pendant in his hand. "Here, let me see." He demanded, taking the thing off Erik. "Must be some sort code." He told him, holding it to the moonlight. "Maybe it's Arabic? No, no, what am I talking about, it's not Arabic. Ancient Greek, maybe…"

He continued to run through different codes and cyphers, when he heard Erik whisper to himself, "When you wear this woven bad, you hold the city in your hand…"

"What?" Alex asked, bemused.

"It's the city!" He blinked.

"You're speaking gibberish again."

"No, dummkopf, it's a map! It's the city!" Erik moved over to Alex and pointed to a cross in the centre of the pendant. "Here's the cathedral, and that's the river, and this little-" Alex cut him off, gesturing impatiently with his hand.

"I've seen maps, and there is no way that this is one. It's a stupid idea to think-" Erik began to speak over him, ignoring when Alex continued to speak. They ended up shouting over each other, trying to have the last word and Erik had slipped into that bizarre language again. Alex could feel the metal statues around them begin to vibrate with the metal-bender's frustration.

They stopped arguing abruptly when a woman's voice shouted from an open window of a nearby house. "OI! SHUT UP. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!" She screamed; her face twisted like an enraged bull's.

Erik and Alex both looked at each other with wide eyes, before they cracked up, giggling quietly, and tears of mirth screaming down their cheeks.

"Alright, so you sat it's a map. Fine, I can go with that. If we are going to find Moira and Xavier, we have to work together. Truce?" He spat into his hand and held it out for Erik to shake. He eyed it with distaste before taking the soiled palm and shaking it.

Alex's face dissolved into a grin, and he slapped Erik on the back. "Good, good." He enthused. The metal-bender sneered and returned the slap on the back, with far, far too much force. He couldn't stop the pained groan escaping his lips.

"Sorry." Erik muttered with an evil looking glint in his eye.

"No you're not." Alex scowled and began to follow after the man, who had begun to walk down the road. Erik looked over his shoulder with a smirk.

"No, I'm really not."

oOo

Erik followed the lines of red thread on the pendant as it weaved through the miniature city, walking down alleys and deeper into the dangerous side of the city until they reached a small abandoned graveyard in the slums of Paris. As much as the boy annoyed him, the presence of Alex was a small comfort to the unease Erik was feeling wandering through the oppressing streets in the dark.

A central gravestone rose high above the rest, seeming to tower over them before they were even close to it. Its looming presence reminded him of Notre Dame, without the comfort of being able to call it home.

He checked the small red X on the map and sighed through the uncomfortable feeling churning in his gut. Of course the scariest monument here was what they were looking for. "Why have you stopped?" Alex hissed as he approached behind him.

Erik said nothing, instead pointing at the shrine before coaxing his unwilling feet to move towards it. His companion uttered a low whistle as they advanced, "God, that looks ominous." Erik nodded.

"It looks like the symbol on the map." He could feel Alex look at it over his shoulder. "But I don't know what it means." Alex hummed, glancing up from the pendant to the gravestone.

"Look, there's a big X here," He murmured, pointing at the gravestone which indeed had nothing but a large X carved into the front of it. "and, Oh," Alex ran a finger up the side of a gravestone where some faded writing resided. "There's an inscription, it's going to take a few minutes for me to translate it…" He trailed off as Erik grabbed the lid of the grave and pulled, yanking it off the pedestal to reveal a staircase leading down into darkness.

Alex coughed awkwardly, "Yes, well, or we could just take the stairs."

Erik chuckled and rolled his eyes. Amateurs.

"After you." Alex sang, with a snarky smile. Erik just looked at him and shrugged.

"Fine." He grabbed the only torch from the wall of the staircase and marched down with much more composure than he really had.

They ended up in a partially flooded chamber which stank of stale piss and dust. The walls were lined with skeletons, the flame from the torch throwing out a weak light which bounced off their bones and pooled shadows in their many crevices. "Is _this_ The Court of Miracles?" Alex breathed, taking in the room.

"Offhand, I'd say this was the Court of Ankle Deep Sewage. It must be the old catacombs." He noticed the odd look Alex was giving him. "What? Just because I haven't been out of the bell tower doesn't mean I don't read."

Alex snorted and nudged Erik, getting him to move forward. "Cheerful place. Kinda makes you wish you got out more often, eh Erik?" Erik chuckled darkly, shaking his head. He felt restless, there was something here. Something was niggling at the back of his metal-sense, but he couldn't work out what was bothering him.

"Not me." He murmured, searching around for the metal which was making him edgy. "I just want to warn Charles and get out of here. I don't want to get in any more trouble." Erik stopped dead. That metal… It was _huge… _and it just twitched. He struggled to work out if he had done that accidently, with his unease or if there was someone else here. "Speaking of trouble," He continued, still stood stock still. "We should have run into some by now."

"What do you mean?" Alex hissed, slipping into a defensive stance as he sensed Erik's disquiet.

"You know, a guard… A booby trap…" Their flame stuttered and put itself out, leaving them in darkness. That was odd, there was no breeze whatsoever… That metal moved again, this time sliding and extending. He could sense it clearer now, it was sharp, body warmed and unyielding.

Shit.

"Or an ambush." He whispered into the darkness. There was a momentary pause, which to Erik felt like years before suddenly, the chamber lit itself up, torches on the wall flickering into life of their own accord.

They were surrounded, people – mutants – pressing in on them with aggressive stances, each holding some sort of weapon; clubs, sticks, crude wooden stakes – no metal besides that hulking object; something he didn't want to touch, even with a ten-foot pole, without knowing exactly what it was.

Rough hands grabbed Erik by his shoulders forcing him to his knees, and instinctively, he searched for any metal at all to throw them off with, like a ring or a bracelet, but finding nothing but the same body-warmed metal that was advancing on them. A quick glance at Alex showed him in a similar position.

"Well, well. Well." A man growled from the shadows, his voice rough and low. Dangerous. "What do we have here?"

"Trespassers!" Someone shouted from behind them.

"Spies!"

"We're not spies!" Alex protested, struggling against the men holding him down.

"Lies!" A woman hissed, followed by jeers of agreement from her peers.

"Can't you just listen-" Erik began, only to be cut off by a sweaty palm clamping over his mouth, muffling his speech.

"That's enough out of you, bub." Crooned the man in the shadows again, only, he was no longer in shadow. Now bathed in the flickering torchlight, Erik could see he was a tall, bulky man, with muscles that bulged through his cotton shirt, threatening to split the flimsy fabric. Facial hair spanned down his jawline in wide sideburns and that, coupled with his snarling mouth gave him an almost animalistic appearance. His eyes were hard and old, despite his relatively young look; like he had seen things – terrible, terrible things.

Erik was sure he'd seen him somewhere before – and that metal shape… was it _him?_

"You're very clever to have found out little hideaway. Unfortunately, you won't live to tell the tale." As if following a silence queue, the hands holding Erik and Alex dragged them to their feet, pulling them roughly down a dark corridor. The man walked ahead, speaking as he led the mob down the tunnel, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

"Maybe you've heard of that terrible place where the 'scoundrels of Paris' collect in their lair. They call it the Court of Miracles, right? Well, funnily enough, bub, we kinda liked that name, and so we stuck with it. This, is the Court of Miracles!" He shouted, gesturing wildly with his arms at the dank walls.

There were a few chuckles from the group behind them. "Here, the lame can walk and the blind can see. So, this place is special, savvy? And we protect that." Murmurs of agreement rose around them.

The walls tapered outwards gently, making the tunnel gradually wider. Erik could just about make out a light at the end of the path.

"We have a method for spies and intruders here; we look out for each other. Rather like hornets protecting their hive." He chuckled darkly, "Sure, it's called the Court of Miracles – it's a miracle if you get out alive." Raucous laughter erupted from the crowd and cold dread slipped sickly down Erik's throat.

"This is our legacy!" The man continued, only getting louder as the light increased and the whispering sounds of a not-so-distant crowd getting louder with every step. "Just you wait, boys! You'll love it!" Erik could see the rim of the tunnel open up into a huge cavern, and he could hear the boisterous sounds of life, so like the ones he heard muffled every day from the square below his tower.

"Welcome to The Court of Miracles, bub." The man growled into his ear, his breath stinking of stale cigars and whiskey.

That though, was not what had caught Erik's attention. The crowd of men ahead of him had dispersed, letting him and Alex gaze over the sight before them with wonder. It was indeed a cavern; but one of a size Erik could never imagine would fit under Paris. The roof looked like it could be at least a hundred foot tall, and it had a mesh of twisted metal supporting the ceiling and stopping any stray rocks falling and bashing the heads in of the people below.

The ground was vastly different from where they had just emerged; rather than the slippery brick floor of the tunnel, the ground was hard, packed dirt – rendered smooth by generations of feet trampling over it.

The edge of the tunnel led out into a make-shift square, lined with booths and shop-stalls of all different shapes, colours and sizes, selling everything from jewellery and trinkets to fruits and various sizes of meat. People moved between the stalls, some looking completely ordinary, whilst others sporting traits which set them apart from the others; a man with an amphibious skin, a woman with long tapered ears that twitched and swivelled, picking up sounds around her, and a little girl, scurrying through the legs of the adult mutants and laughing with her friends, easily distinguishable by the acid green of her hair.

Erik had never seen anything like it, and continued to stare in abject amazement as they wandered, as free as they pleased. _They're like me,_ he thought, not paying attention to where the group was now leading them, _I could have had this… That could have been me._

"Um," Alex piped up just behind Erik's shoulder, "What's that?" Erik glanced at the blond boy over his shoulder before following his gaze, his eyes coming to rest on a giant wooden structure, with not a single metal joint in its structure. Erik knew full well what that was.

A man stood waiting for them on the structure holding two thick lengths of rope out where they could see, a dastardly grin twisting his face. They were going to hang. There was a lot more metal he could use to escape here than there was in the tunnel – The mesh on the roof being one; but with that, he ran the risk of bringing the whole place down on top of them. But they were woefully outnumbered, and Erik knew as much about fighting as he did about the breeding habits of a humming bird. Nothing.

"Hey, look," Alex began, his voice wavering, "We're not spies, okay? We're looking for our friends. You have to believe us!" The man with the sideburns smirked.

"No, I don't."

People began to crowd around them, wandering over with idle curiosity as they were lead onto the podium. "Gather 'round, everybody!" The man boomed, "We have a couple of necks for our noose tonight!" The gathering people snickered and catcalled, jeering at them both as the ropes were tied around their necks.

"Double header! A pair of Shaw's spies!" Sneered a black haired woman from behind Erik. His heart began to beat double time, leaping against his ribs like it was trying to escape. "And not just any spies!" She continued, "A soldier and his bell-ringing henchman!"

Erik growled and spat, "We are not spies! I am no henchman! Let us go, um gottes willen! Jetzt!" The man chuckled darkly.

"Got anything else to say whilst you're at it, bub?"

"I'm a friend of Charles'! Charles Xavier! Mein Gott, we haven't even done anything!"

"Yeah, well, so am I; and he 'aint said nothin' about you." Erik's heart sank and dread ran a cold finger up his spine.

"But we didn't do anything…" Alex breathed next to him, his eyes wide and shining with fear.

The man hummed and assumed a mock-thoughtful pose. "I suppose you haven't." He conceded, "and so, we find you totally innocent… And that is the worst crime of all." He trained his gaze back onto Erik and bared his teeth. "And you're going to hell." He motioned to a man off to the side of them with a swift gesture. The crowd began to roar and applaud when the man who was motioned to, moved towards the lever which would open the trapdoors under their feet. Alex released a choked sob beside him.

So this was how it ended - alone on a podium with a rope around his neck. He closed his eyes and brought up the face of his only four friends in the world. Azazel, Emma, Janos… and Charles.

_You're not alone, my friend. _Said a whisper in the back of his head, _and you are not going to die. _The murmur was followed by a shout so loud, that the whole crowd winced. It was only a second later that Erik realised it had echoed inside their heads. _STOP._

The man paused by the lever, looking out into the crowd towards where the shout came from with apprehension.

Erik followed his gaze, only to find the single best sight he had ever seen in his life. Charles was pushing through the – now silent – crowd with a blonde haired girl and Moira walking by his side. Two fingers were pressed firmly to his temple and his eyes glowing with quiet fury as he glared at the man with the sideburns. Erik's heart skipped as he took in the aura of sheer power radiating from the telepath; he was glorious.

"Logan." Charles growled as he approached; the low, rough sound made Erik's insides jump. "Let them go." The man – Logan – heaved a frustrated sigh, but made no move to release them.

"But-"

"Now, Logan." Erik felt a twitch in his metal-sense as Logan sighed, and the metal figure Erik had been feeling shifted; elongating until six sharp blades were pushed into the cold air. Erik tracked the claws on the man's knuckles with wide eyes as they slashed at the rope above his head, upon seeing the blades, Erik couldn't make any more sense of the structure inside Logan than before. The bastard was quite fascinating.

The crowd on the ground dispersed, muttering as they went and glancing at Charles, who pulled himself onto the stage with an easy grace.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Logan?" He asked, glaring at the man, who looked sheepish, despite the deadly metal protruding from his body.

"How was I to know they were your friends, Chuckles? Gimme a break, I 'aint no telepath." Erik snarled and clenched his fists at the lie.

"Du bastard! We told you we were his friends. Ficken lϋgner." Alex and Logan stared at him, whereas Charles seemed unfazed by his German.

"What language are you even speaking, bub?" Logan hissed, narrowing his eyes.

"German." Charles answered before Erik could even open his mouth. "I am so sorry Erik." He murmured, turning to him with an open expression. "Had I knew you were coming, I would have made sure you got a proper welcome." Before Erik could reply, Lady Moira chose that moment to step up by Charles side, reminding Erik painfully of how they last met.

He threw up mental walls again, hiding his jealous thoughts from Charles and his soft smiles. Erik didn't miss the flicker of hurt that passed through those gorgeous blue eyes, before disappearing just as suddenly as it appeared.

"Erik, this is Raven Darkhölme; my sister in all but blood." Charles motioned to the blonde girl stood on his other side, watching him with appraising eyes. "You know Lady Moira McTaggert," he said with a fond smile, watching as Alex embraced his mistress when Logan released him from his noose. "And you seem to have become acquainted with our resident guard dog. Erik, this is Logan Howlett." Logan grunted.

"Jeez, this really pissed you off, didn't it, Chuck?" Charles didn't deign him with an answer.

The blonde girl chuckled, "Well, duh. We discussed this, Logan, you knew exactly who he was. So, Erik," her eyes flashed a wicked gold before returning to their blue colour. Erik blinked in surprise. "What brings you out of the bell tower and into our neck of the woods?"

Brushing off the odd colour change, Erik settled his mind on the problem at hand. "Shaw has found this place. He's gathering his men and is set to attack in two days. You need to leave, Charles. You need to be safe." Charles' eyes softened fractionally, though Erik couldn't really fathom why.

"How do you know this?" Raven asked with wide eyes. Erik's mouth set into a grim line.

"He told me."

Charles hummed thoughtfully, and rubbed a thumb distractingly over his lower lip. "Logan, start the evacuation – Women and children first, then. We all knew it would come to this eventually." Erik frowned, confused.

"You did?" Alex asked, now paying attention and beating him to the punch. Charles nodded regretfully.

"It was only a matter of time before he found us. Our population was growing too large to go unnoticed for much longer. We have contingency plans," He placed a warm hand on Erik's arm, spreading comforting heat right through to the bone. "You needn't worry about me. I will be one of the last to leave anyway; a captain must go down with his ship and all that lark." Erik shook his head vigorously, refusing to be distracted by the telepath's soft touch.

"No, Charles, you have to go. He wants you in particular, and he won't take any chances."

"Yeah," Alex reiterated, "he was really creepy about it too. I wouldn't put it past him to have some sort of trick up his sleeve." Charles smiled softly.

"We have two days; that's more than enough time." The telepath threw another look at Logan, maintaining eye-contact with him for a moment before the man nodded and left without a second glance, with Raven in tow. Erik felt a little off-balance with the realisation that he had just witnessed a telepathic conversation.

"Come on," Charles said, addressing him and Alex again, "You two can stay here for tonight; you've had a long journey in finding us here."

"What about Moira?" Erik asked, throwing a dark glance to the woman, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a room." She replied, shortly. "If it's okay with you, Charles, I would like Alex to have a room near mine if you don't mind. I'd prefer him to stay close." Charles nodded with a small grin.

"Of course. Alex, I feel like a terrible host, but everything's been so hectic, I haven't had the chance to ask. How is your injury doing?" Alex shot him a wide grin and shrugged.

"Hurts like a bitch, but I've had worse. You're McCoy fella really stitched me up good. I'd like to thank him if I get the chance."

"I'm sure he would like that, although you won't usually find him down here. He prefers to stay up in the city, as his mutation is easily hidden, and up there he can continue earning money in the cathedral as well as continuing his medical training with the apothecary." Erik blinked with confusion. Hank was a mutant?

Charles enthused that he was when Erik had asked, "Yes! Such a delightful one too; he has prehensile feet which enable him to run faster than you or I. It really is marvellous! Unfortunately he doesn't seem to think so, poor boy."

Erik tried to digest this new information with aplomb, but failed miserably; gaping at Charles with an open mouth. Charles chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as Erik snapped his jaw shut with an embarrassed blush.

"I'll show you to your rooms." He murmured, before turning to McTaggert with a raised eyebrow and extending his arm for her to take. Erik schooled his sour expression – he refused to let Xavier know exactly how much he'd affected him. He wouldn't let him get inside his head.

They were lead through the square, Charles easily brushing past the over-eager vendors and ragamuffin children that were darting through the streets. It was fascinating seeing the mutant square up-close; so similar to a human one, except the firelight from the hundreds of torches and flame lamps lining the walls and streets sending dancing shadows across the cavernous walls of the marketplace.

Metal sang from the stalls, each item having a different pitch and tembre, all whispering an off-key, nonsensical tune in the back of his senses. He could feel everything in sharp colourful detail, and it seemed to him that the human world above was dull and grey compared to the swirl of loud colour milling through his vision. He tracked a delicate chain which hung around Charles' neck; if he concentrated, he could feel the man's heartbeat though the chain as it brushed across silky skin like a caress. The exquisite sensation caused his mouth to dry. Swallowing down the nervous heat threatening to bloom in his stomach, he found himself struggling _not_ to concentrate on the chain too hard.

It didn't take long for them to make their way out of the square and into a cleaner set of tunnels similar to the one he and Alex entered through; all the while Charles chatted about the structure of the network – which tunnels were part of the original sewer system, and which ones were tunnels built by the mutants in recent years. He told them in animated tones about some of the work that he was doing with younger mutants; teaching them to control their abilities and the school he had hoped to eventually set up. He told them how he taught them the value of family – something Erik never really had – and gave them an education in everything they would need in their upcoming plans to show the humans that mutants were just the same as normal people.

Erik had a feeling that it would never work.

He continued with his lecture until they reached another, much smaller chamber, alight with torches and low huts were arranged like a street, and mutants hovered around the huts, talking and laughing with each other like there wasn't a chance they could be caught by Shaw in days.

A little boy ran across their path, cutting right across Erik's feet so that he jumped back in alarm. He stared after the boy as he ran towards his mother, who had her arms out-stretched to accept him into her embrace. Something in his heart twisted with regret and longing.

_Erik?_ Came a timid thought, breaking through his shaken mental armour.

_Get out, Charles. _He growled internally.

_Erik, please-_

_GET OUT._ He cleared out his mind save for the mental image of a steel wall, thick, impenetrable and singing with unshakeable strength. The presence withdrew – more like thrown out – of Erik's mind, and Erik resolutely ignored the wince that briefly passed over the telepath's face.

It wasn't long after that that Alex and Moira split off, bidding both Charles and Erik (though Lady McTaggert didn't seem all that enthusiastic towards Erik) goodnight. Alex sidled sleepily into his own hut, whilst Moira received a gentle kiss of the cheek from Charles, before she too slipped into her own. Erik controlled the ugly feeling in his gut with a stern frown.

They walked down the street a little more in silence, a tension sitting uncomfortably between them. Erik could almost taste the unease as it radiated from them both like magnetic fields, drawing them inexplicably closer to each other with each step. But with every one of those steps, the pull mounted until Erik's whole body was screaming '_touch him, touch him!' _whilst his mind remained on lockdown, fighting his impulses with a wrought-iron fist. His own curled fists shook minutely against his side as his eyes seemed to pick up everything; every twitch of Charles' strong, pale fingers, every nuance in his face.

One way or another, magnets collide.

Though Erik didn't know what form of collision they would take.

It seemed like forever – _or only a second – too long and far, far too short – _until they reached a hut, marginally bigger than the rest of them, with large windows and a beautifully carved bench by the door. It wasn't perfect, but something clicked in Erik when he saw the place. _This is somewhere you can grow old, _Erik thought to himself.

Charles looked over his shoulder as he walked, and seemed a little startled at how very close they'd gotten; Erik could only have to reach forward with one hand a little to touch the sliver of pale wrist that peeked tantalisingly from the telepath's cuffs. "I'm afraid you'd have to stay with me; there were no more rooms to spare." He murmured, walking up a path of stones laid on the compressed sand of the chamber floor. "I love here with Raven and Logan, though we won't see them tonight – there is too much to do. There's a spare room you can take, if you're okay with that?" He didn't sound sure of himself, as if he had no idea if Erik would really accept the offer.

_Good,_ He thought. It meant his mind was his own.

"That's fine." He murmured, following into the house, and standing awkwardly in the hallway.

Charles seemed to drop any pleasant façade he'd been assuming, and turned to face Erik with an unreadable expression. He was silent; just staring at Erik as though his face would give all the answers to every hard question that he had ever had to answer in his life.

"_Was?"_ He asked, slipping into German in his discomfort. Xavier's piercing gaze made his skin itch, despite the beautiful, cool blue of the eyes that did the staring. Charles didn't answer, and his face never changed; he just remained as silent as the grave.

Erik swore the whole world had stopped, and held its breath in that moment.

Eventually, Charles spoke, "Why are you shutting me out, Erik?" His voice was quiet and soft, like a caress in the dark. "I don't understand. We- I thought-" He sighed like a man a hundred years older than he was. "I thought we had something? Or did I make a mistake?" Despite his non-accusatory and gentle tones, his eyes were sharp, taking in everything.

Erik bowed his head, forcing down the wave of hatred that sprang up at the memory of Charles' and the Lady's kiss.

"I thought we did too. I get it if you don't want to- to be with me." Erik gulped, ignoring Charles' confused frown. "But you lead me on – you made me feel like a complete fool!" Erik's heart bled at the sight of Charles just getting more and more confused.

"You lied to me!" He continued, "You made me get my hopes up, forced me to fall for you-" Charles let out an outraged splutter.

"Forced you? _Forced you?! _How _dare_ you presume that I _forced_ you to do anything?" Charles' voice was raised, the volume heightened with anger.

"Well I don't know, do I?" Erik sneered, "For all I know, you could have used your creepy mind-tricks on me. Controlled me into thinking-"

A flash of hurt passed across the telepath's face "What?! How- Oh, so now what I do is 'creepy' to you? Well, I'm sorry. I cannot help hearing people's thoughts. And _controlling _you? Oh, my friend, I would never do that." Charles sounded immensely disappointed and upset. When Erik didn't say anything, he continued, "I can't- I don't even know where this has come from. I don't understand." Erik screwed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly; Charles sounded desolate, and alone. Erik knew how that felt.

"I saw you kissing Moira." Charles gasped.

"What? When? I never kissed Moira!" Erik continued as if Charles had never spoken.

"I know you are ashamed of having wanted me. Even for such a short time. Who wouldn't be?"

"Erik-"

"Wanting me – being with me – would have you burned on the stake. Who would take that risk? The least you could-"

"Erik, listen-"

"_The least_ you could have done would be to have left me alone, but you got my hopes up, and now…"

A pair of strong fingers clutched at his wrist. "Now you listen to me," Charles said with a hard voice, his eyes blazing with anger, "If you don't- if you don't want to be with me, then just tell me. Don't make up this shit." Erik growled.

"Of course I want to be with you, it's you that doesn't! But then who can blame you?" He said with a sneer, "When you have someone panting after you who looks like _this-"_

The hand on his wrist tightened into a death grip. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. Don't ever think about yourself like that, do you understand? If you keep tearing at yourself, you will never find peace."

Erik let off a hard laugh that sounded nothing like him, it was a bitter, and broken sound. "Peace was never an option."

Charles sighed heavily, opening his mouth to continue his argument and suddenly Erik was so very, very tired. "No." He interrupted, pulling his wrist from the telepath's grip. "Just leave me alone. I don't want you messing with my head anymore. Go away."

Charles started at is words, taking a step back as all emotion seemed to be shocked from his face. He just stood there and stared for a long moment, his eyes searching for something in Erik's face that he couldn't fathom.

Less than a minute, but a whole eternity later, Charles blinked, his blank expression never leaving his face. Not a word escaped those red lips, and even when Erik cautiously lowered the defences around his mind and sent out a cautious _Charles?_ There was no response. Not even a flicker.

Another lifetime passed that way before Charles turned on his heel without warning and strode out of the room. Erik had no idea what had just happened; why he'd left, or why, all of a sudden, every emotion which had always been so easy to read on his face, suddenly became so vastly unknown to him.

Something felt immeasurably wrong about that moment – something so profoundly other that he didn't think that what he thought he saw was what he really saw - which made absolutely no sense to him. Had Charles been messing with his head all that time? Had he been making Erik see something? Or was he hiding something?

Somehow, he would have preferred if it were the first.

Erik could have moved that evening; but he didn't. Preferring to stand in the same spot that Charles had left him in, just watching shadows crawl across the floor as the lamps flickered outside.

Grief was something Erik had an intimate relationship with; the knowledge that his mother had not loved him was something he had been grieving about since the day Shaw had told him. Before then, when he was young and nameless, he'd been hoping – expecting – his mother to come for him and tell him who he was, caress his cheek, and sing him to sleep.

When Shaw revealed his mother's true nature at four years old, he'd sobbed, denied the possibility, thrown tantrums alone in his tower… The next day he chose his name, and had worn it like armour that was hand-made for him. He'd shucked the guise of 'Boy' gladly. Erik didn't need a mother; Erik had Shaw and was stronger for it. 'Boy' was just a weaker part of his past.

But of course, even the best armours sometimes got holes.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but he eventually gave up his vigil as his eyes began to become too heavy to keep open. He stumbled blindly into a bedroom, rolling onto the straw mattress with a sigh. It was comfier than he was used to; the straw had been cut without sharp points, so the usual scratch the bed made to his skin was absent.

His head felt heavy on the straw, and behind his lids he tortured himself with the memory of his kiss with Charles. The feel of soft lips moving pressing gently to his, the velvety skin of the other man's wrist under his fingertips, the feel of the pulse beating there; strong, steady… a rhythm which calmed him gently… gently… lulled him…

oOo

He was awoken by a thump in the bedroom, which was followed by a soft curse. Erik snapped his eyes open and stared warily at the intruder as he clutched his elbow as if in pain. He could make out no discernible features on the man except his outline against the moonlight streaming through the glass window.

His heart thumped too loudly in his chest as the man approached the bed, and he screwed his eyes shut, feigning sleep. There was a soft chuckle, and Erik's insides jumped with fear.

The straw mattress dipped and shifted as the shadow slipped into the cot beside him. Erik startled and reached out to grab the intruder, only to be stopped by an achingly familiar voice hissing into the darkness, "don't say a word, Erik. Just don't."

"Charles..." he murmured as the telepath's body slid on top of his, pinning him to the straw.

"Don't." Charles' mouth pressed gently to his own, chaste in spite of their position. "Just - don't." he breathed between kisses.

Erik's hands hesitantly reached up to the man's hips, holding the body hovering over his in place as their mouths moved together.

Erik eventually had to take a breath, and they broke apart with a gasp. "But-"

"No, Erik." Charles hissed, pressing his lips to Erik's forcefully, causing a wild heat to rise, low in his stomach.

"Charles..." he gasped when they broke for breath again, grunting a moan as the telepath's fingers explored the skin beneath the waistband of his trousers.

"Do you like this?" he murmured, his voice sounding both unsure and sultry at the same time.

"Yes," Erik groaned as fingertips pressed and stroked at the silky skin above his hardening cock.

"I want you." Charles whispered, brushing his slick, open mouth across the base of Erik's throat.

"But - ah - I'm a man..." he gasped, his cock jumping in his trousers at Charles' resulting growl.

"I don't care. I can't- I- I want you. I want to have you, just for a little while." Erik pulled Charles' mouth down to his own with a whimper.

Erik's mental shields were destroyed; knocked down with the intoxicating force of the telepath's kisses. It seemed that he wasn't the only one affected; Erik could feel a hum of thought that wasn't his own, pulsing with fear and arousal in the base of his skull.

The thoughts flickered and curled like a flame, flashing images, sounds, taste and memories into his mind. But they were mostly what Charles felt; Erik's large hands, cupping his hips and backside, lips planting messy, open mouthed kisses to his skin. It was heady.

"Charles- nhhgn- Charles-" He groaned as fingers explored his chest. Leaning up, he captured Charles' mouth in a ferocious kiss, swallowing the moan it elicited happily.

"Fuck. Fuck, we- we need this off." Charles whispered heatedly, tugging at the hem of the shirt Erik had fallen asleep in. There was a moment of struggling as they both fought to get their clothes off, dodging elbows and laughing into their kisses.

When skin met skin, neither man could hold in their groans, nor had Erik restrained from arching wantonly into every brush against him; his touch-starved skin feverish with desire.

Soon, both men were completely naked, and everything seemed to slow into a slick, sensual slide of skin, their bodies fitting together like two parts of a puzzle. Their thrusts against each other were deep and slow and their mouths moved together in a passionate fumble of lips, teeth and tongue.

Everything narrowed into a point in Erik's mind, and he knew nothing but the simple pleasure of Charles against him, kissing him…Charles' flushed skin under his fingertips, and the rush of sticky warmth between their legs, coinciding with the gasp of relieved gratification escaping from those kiss-bruised lips.

Erik's release didn't come long after; he'd been teetering on the brink for what seemed forever, desperately clinging to the edge, wanting it to last for eternity. When he finally let go, the pleasure hit him like a battering ram, and he found himself clutching at his companion and gasping against his skin. Even after the shivery waves of his pleasure left him basking in a blissful glow, he didn't loosen his hold on Charles, as if he could hold him there forever. As if the harder he held him, the longer he'd stay.

Charles didn't seem inclined to leave the circle of Erik's arms, instead, leaning into the contact, and bringing his face up to plant soft, loving kisses to his lips.

Erik understood now exactly what he'd got wrong before, and the realisation was staggering. Charles _did_ want him. Charles wanted him, but also wanted what Erik could not give him; a family.

That much was clear with the close relationship Charles had with his students, his enthusiasm for family, and unity. Cohabitation. Peace.

For him, peace was never an option.

Pressing a kiss to the telepath's temple, he whispered, "I understand why you chose Moira, I cannot give you what you need. I- I thank you for letting me have this, just once. Just- promise me you'll be happy."

Charles stiffened in his arms, and turned his head to face Erik with outrage in his eyes. "What the hell, Erik? Did you not understand what that was? Don't you get it?"

Erik blinked, "You're going to marry Moira."

Charles growled angrily, "You're unbelievable! Erik, I lo-"

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a thunderous crash, which shook the entire cavern.

Shaw had come early.

oOo

**OHMYGODYOUGUISE. This is my longest chapter yet D: But yeah, I apologise for taking forever. **

**Kudos+Comment+Subscribe/Bookmark= ALLMYLOVE3 TAKE IT! TAKE IT, I SAY! **


	9. Chapter 7

**PLEASE READ **_**ALL OF THIS**_**. **

**WARNINGS FOR POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING SCENES.**

**Places marked with (~~~) is where you should skip to the (###) if you do not like to read the graphic scenes described below.**

**Potentially triggering descriptions of the beginning of rape, talk of the intention of rape and general Non-con references.**

**GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE.**

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

His eyes tracked his quarry as they descended down the passageway Erik had revealed until they disappeared entirely from his sight. The men shuffled uncomfortably behind him, whilst some of them craned their necks to see what they had been chasing across Paris. Sebastian growled, low and pleased in his throat, ignoring the way the men skittered back nervously as he turned.

"Captain," He addressed the man closest to him, smirking as he flinched.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Go back to the Palace of Justice and round up every man you can find - at home or on duty. This is the day we have been waiting for." He nodded quickly and scuttled off, taking the other guards with him.

When he was finally alone, he was able to reflect on what he knew was to come; with so many mutants, and so little information, the raid would be difficult. However, the element of surprise would work in their favour, as long as his commission was in working order.

He'd picked it up that morning, impressed by the lightweight helmet which had been designed from a bizarre discovery off the banks of Italy. The new metal had a blue-ish tinge, and was stronger than diamond, despite its lack of density. He'd had it imbued with the most powerful of spells provided by the city's mage, hoping it would stop any telepathic interference if Xavier decided to get involved.

It was perfect.

The helmet sat in his saddle bag; almost singing to him, beckoning him to put it on, to protect him. Maybe, he wondered idly, those blasphemous thoughts and feelings would finally go away if Xavier no longer had his poisonous hold over his mind. It didn't matter too much if they stayed, the outcome would be the same anyway.

Shaw had been a torturer for years, and all that experience helped him pick up a few things. Like knowing exactly what, and how much, would break a man with just one look.

Xavier was a difficult one. His telepathy seemed to harden the man to most forms of psychological torture. It made sense really, as being able to look into the deepest darkest desire of every kind of man would desensitise anyone to the horrors of life.

Physical torture was a different matter though. It seemed to Shaw that simply beating the man into submission would do nothing but reinforce the man against his demands; so the only option was to make the torture seem personal.

Shaw didn't think you got any more personal than rape.

Oh, absolutely, he would give Charles a chance to take him up on his offer without the use of violence; but if worst came to worst…

He would _make_ him give in.

oOo

Charles was on his feet and throwing on clothes quicker than he had ever done in his life, aware that Erik was just seconds behind him. The metal-bender's mind was a whirlwind of emotion; shock, confusion and above all, fear. A fear that would have crippled a weaker man, (Charles included), into a weepy, shivering mess.

He was glad – possibly gladder than he'd ever been in his life – for Erik's mind to be open to his again. The warm weight of it, the sharp intelligence was as comforting as it was intoxicating. To be without it felt wrong; just as it felt wrong to be without the rushing symphony of Raven's thoughts, or Logan's murky, convoluted ones.

Another crash shook the foundations of his house, and he cursed his wandering mind as he stumbled out of the door. He could not afford to be distracted right now. But, oh God, how was he supposed to concentrate with a shirtless, panting Erik at his heels?

He snapped into focus when he set eyes on the chaos waiting for him outside.

It was mayhem; men dressed in black streamed into the antechamber, dragging women by their hair, beating off defensive husbands, battling destructive mutations with trained focus.

"Oh God," He breathed, watching as flashes of light went off around them, howls of the wounded drowning out the frantic beat of hundreds of panicked feet.

"I thought we'd have more time. We should have had more time!" Erik muttered, clenching his hands in his hair in despair.

"This is not your fault, Erik," Charles growled, grabbing his hand and dragging the metal-bender into the shadows of the antechamber, stalking towards another, slightly hidden exit, leading into the vast tunnel system.

The tunnels were eerily quiet after the screaming din of the fight in the other chamber; the only sound being their harsh breathing, the desperate pounding of his blood in his ears, and the cool edge of Erik's thoughts curling around his.

"We need to find Raven and Logan," Charles hissed through his harsh breathing. Erik nodded with a tense mouth and wild eyes. Nothing was said between them as they jogged through the warren, the chaotic noise of hundreds of people running and shouting almost drowned out the sounds their thoughts as they whined a nauseating frequency in the back of Charles' skull.

It didn't take long before the noise from the main chamber became a fierce racket of screams and fighting.

Erik charged down the hallway, seemingly overtaken with a desire to _protectkeepsafemineprotect_ his thoughts running panicked rings around Charles, throwing his equilibrium off balance. He hurried to keep up with the sprinting metal-bender, panicking a little as Erik skidded around the corner and into the fray without him.

_Erik?!_ He called as he rounded the same corner, searching for him in the thick, vicious mixture of pain and fear that weighed down on his mind like tar.

_I'm here, Charles._ He didn't feel reassured by that in the slightest, because he still couldn't _see_.

The crowd pushed and shoved around him as he made his way through the mass searching through his mind frantically for Erik's, Raven's or Logan's mental signature.

Stumbling through the mass of people was like trying to run through water; every push forward was difficult and painfully slow. Despite his desperate searching, he could only catch glimpses of each of his friend's minds, only to be drowned out by the cacophony of pain, fear, and humiliation coming from his fellow mutants.

There was nothing he could do to stop the fighting; the sheer volume of screaming minds around him beat at the shields around his mind like an angry mob; his telepathy nigh on useless against so many minds, which thrashed in fear like wild beasts, tameable only by the most skilled hand. But so very many at once… They were uncontrollable.

_Charles! _His sisters thoughts shone out like a beacon from the writhing mass of thoughts.

_Raven! Are you alright? _He asked, anchoring his mind to hers, desperately trying not to be swept away and drown in the commotion in his head.

_No! You have to- _His stomach dropped like a stone as she was cut off, her mind being torn from his grasp.

Charles was determined to keep his own panic in check as he pushed more ruthlessly through the crowds towards the direction Raven's mind was situated. Being a little shorter than most, he was buffeted around easily; but it only served to strengthen his resolve to get through to his sister.

The answer as to why Raven had been cut off so suddenly came apparent as he pushed into a large bubble of space by the entrance to the Court.

Shaw stood, tall and imposing, in the entrance to the tunnels that led up to the surface, twirling a long, white feather that he had plucked from the wings of the little boy cowering at his feet. Raven lay in a heap beside him, her mind thrumming quietly in unconsciousness. Thank God, at least she was alive.

The boy – Warren – had bruises all over his back, and his delicate wings were torn to shreds. Charles automatically broadcasted a pulse of comfort towards the boy, who shivered and hiccupped softly behind his sobs. The small wave of thanks he received in return did nothing to assuage his concern.

"Well, well, well," Shaw drawled, capturing Charles' furious gaze, "So the telepath decided to turn up at last?"

Charles ignored the jab, and the predatory grin which accompanied it; he wasn't interested in verbal sparring today. He prepared to dive into the man's mind, but he was knocked back when he realised he couldn't hear him. _At all._

Shaw smirked at Charles' floored expression. "Good, isn't it?" He chuckled lightly, tapping the bizarre metal helmet on his head as dread began to eat at Charles. He was useless. He was so used to having the power to control situations and people if he wished to – Not that he ever wanted to, but it was nice to have the reassurance, just in case – Now he couldn't; Shaw had that helmet, and everything was just so _loud._

He felt like he could sob as Shaw stepped over Warren, walking towards him with intent, able to do nothing but back away.

Shaw tutted as Charles stepped back, reaching out and grabbing onto his half laced shirt, tugging him closer. Charles stumbled into Shaw's space, cringing when the man brought his face close to his, his nose skimming Charles' cheek and ran a piercing gaze from the telepath's hairline to his jaw.

"Don't run away, Charlie. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you…" He brought a hand up to Charles' jaw, holding it firmly in place with an iron grip, and nestled his nose into his hair, breathing deeply. Charles whimpered.

A burst of anger bloomed from a mind somewhere in the back of Charles' skull, like a blood tipped rose with steel thorns and razor sharp metallic petals. There was a wordless cry of rage and Charles tilted his head to see Erik charging towards him, his meekness seeming to have deserted him; leaving determination and white hot rage giving his mind a bitter, iron taste.

Charles thought that Erik might just get close enough to batter Shaw, but was stopped about ten feet away from them by a pair of soldiers, who threw themselves bodily at Erik, knocking him to the ground. The metal-bender cursed and waved his hands angrily, but nothing happened; their metal buckles replaced with leather, and their weapons wooden clubs.

Shaw laughed again, "You think I didn't think about you, dear Erik? These two were trained just for you."

Charles had taken the opportunity to wriggle out of Shaw's grasp, only to stop dead when he felt the point of a spear rest menacingly in the small of his back.

"Now, now, Charles. One move and I tell my men to beat him to death," He crooned, tilting his head towards Erik, "I'm sure you don't want that." Charles gulped. "You have Erik to thank for our little discovery," Erik stopped in his struggle and looked up at Shaw, horrified. "He was stupid enough to fall for my bluff. He and that traitor, Summers, led us right to you."

"No…" Erik gasped, his face contorting with despair, "No!" He let out another wordless wail of rage, pulling even more against his captors. He managed to wriggle one of his hands free, and the metal bender flung it out in front of him as they dragged him back. Charles gasped as every last piece of metal bent towards him, like animals hearing the call of their master.

All but one.

"Well this is an interesting development," Shaw mused, stroking a finger along the rim of his helmet, which remained unmoved by Erik's power. The metal-bender looked at the palm of his hand with distressed confusion, his brows pulling together into a scowl.

Charles saw something click in the back of his mind, and he stretched his hand out again, determination bathing every corner of his sharp features. Metal stated to shiver again, and the fighting around them deteriorated as enemies and friends alike all lost their weapons to Erik's power. Charles watched as his friend's face strained with effort, more and more guards rushing over to hold onto their metallokinetic captive as his body seemed to lift off the ground, beginning to float into the air.

"Fascinating…" Shaw breathed, watching the display with surprise, "You are stronger than I thought." The metal, now hovering a few feet in the air began to turn, and spin frantically on the spot, almost humming with an agitation which built and built until, like a rubber band pulled past its limit, it snapped. Weapons, buckles, jewellery, buckets and tools all flew towards Shaw at a frightening speed.

There didn't seem to be a signal from Shaw, but a guard took the end of his club to Erik's head with a sickening crunch, knocking him unconscious with one blow. Charles gasped as his whole body crumpled, the power leaving his floating body and the metal, both tumbling to the ground.

"Erik!" He shouted, pushing past his bemused guard and rushing to his side. However, he was intercepted before he got halfway there, and he felt Shaw's arms wrap in a vice-like grip around his waist, and no matter how hard he struggled, the man didn't release him.

"Come!" He shouted to his guards, "Gather the prisoners. We're leaving!"

Charles watched in horror as guards seemed to pounce on their opponents with rope, tying them up and parading them past Shaw with grins on their faces. Charles gazed on, hopeless from the prison of Shaw's arms as he watched his friends, his adopted family being marched one by one to what was surely their death. Tears rolled his cheeks, and he began to sob uncontrollably. Logan was dragged past them, spears stuck straight through his chest; but the bastard was still breathing, fighting against his bonds weakly.

He closed his eyes in despair as a father called out in a panicked voice, assumedly for his missing son.

"Max! Max?! MAX!"

oOo

It had taken Jakob a moment to place the young man who'd been knocked out at Shaw's feet; his features were so eerily familiar, but he was sure he'd never met the boy in his life.

The boy had a power over metal – that should have told him who it was right away. As it was, the idea was so impossible; he just couldn't entertain it, could he?

Was that man, who looked so much like his deceased wife, really the son that had vanished from the face of the Earth all those years ago? He craned his neck to see as the guards pushed him past the man who'd killed his family twenty-four years ago.

The metal-bender was tall and lean, even curled on the floor; much like Magda was, with high cheekbones and auburn hair. His eyelids fluttered restlessly and Jakob was sure he had seen a piercing green set of eyes behind those lids.

Was it possible?

After all these years, was it possible Shaw had kept him, and hidden him away? But for what purpose? Was his Max raised for this his whole life?

He couldn't entertain the idea. But couldn't get it out of his head.

It was then that they marched him right past the young man, and Jakob got a full view of him – the revelation curled like acid into his stomach, and he struggled against his bonds to get at his unconscious son.

"Max!" He called, willing him to wake, willing him to recognize his father. He didn't even stir. "Max?!" He prayed he wasn't dead. Not again. Not again.

"MAX!"

oOo

The cell Shaw had put him in was freezing; so cold in fact, that the metal bars of his cage were slick with ice. He was tired, he was hungry, and no one would tell him anything about his friends. The person he was most scared for was Erik; there was really too may mutants for them to be torturing them all, and the metal-bender had betrayed his master. He dreaded to think what the consequences of those actions might be.

For the first time ever, his mind was empty; all thoughts had dissolved behind the helmet Shaw had fastened to his head. With his hands bound to his ankles, there was no hope of getting it off. He feared he would go crazy behind the cold metal walls around his telepathy; his mind was so used to the buzz of life that usually occupied it where ever he went, that everything seemed grey and dead with the helmet on.

He had no idea how long he could stand it.

Steady footsteps echoed down the stone hallway, and Charles shuffled towards the door, craning his neck to see who approached.

Shaw came to a halt in front of the bars, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Charles. Are we ready for that talk now?" The telepath just growled in response, feeling a little like a wild animal in a cage that was far too small.

Shaw just chuckled evilly at his defiance, "So you don't want an opportunity to save the bloodshed? So be it." He began to walk away as the implications of that sentence settled into Charles' head.

"Wait!" He called, Shaw stopped and turned slowly, his face a picture of feigned innocence.

"What is it, Charles?"

"What do you mean?" Shaw smiled and settled into a chair a guard dragged over and placed before the bars. He was close enough for Charles to touch if he wanted. The thought made him shudder.

"I have a… desire," This didn't sound good, "For your… services, as it were."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Services?"

"I have found myself quite enamoured with you, Charles." The telepath swallowed nervously as Shaw leant towards the bars, his face close to the Charles', "You are the most beautiful creature." Shaw's eyes raked hotly over Charles' body, making him shiver with disgust.

"Your body to save one person's life; you can choose whom." Charles eyes widened, horror and dread filling his heart. What kind of bargain was that? How was he supposed to choose between his sister, Erik, Logan and all the children and innocents which had been taken from their homes, rounded up like cattle and imprisoned somewhere that was probably just as cold and dank as his.

The thought of having Shaw's hands run freely over his body made him feel sick to the core. He thought back to Erik and his lips, sucking bruises into his skin and pressing them gently against his neck. And Erik's long fingers, which curled into the hair at the nape of his neck - worshipping him with quiet grunts and breathy moans. The thought of replacing that one, incredible experience with one of Shaw, defiling him and using his body was something he was sure would destroy Erik. Not to mention, himself.

"No." He growled, looking up at Shaw with hard eyes. "God, no. Never. I'd rather die."

The man sighed, taking his jacket off and rolling up the sleeves. "Well, I did give you a choice. Unfortunately that means you now don't get one."

**(~~~)**

Shaw stood, and on some invisible signal, the guard made his way to the cell door, sliding a key into the lock and turning it open. The sound of the metal tumblers clanking over each other was overly loud and ominous in the silence.

The door swung open with a creak of hinges, Shaw following its path into the cage with eyes that burned hotly into his.

Panic overwhelmed him; clogging his throat and shortening his breath, making his heart gallop at impossible speeds. He edged back into the furthest corner of his cell, scrambling backwards as Shaw stalked towards him. When Charles' back hit the cell, he whimpered as, unable to do anything to stop it, Shaw grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him against the ground, cutting his bindings loose with the flick of a pocketknife.

Something seemed to snap inside Charles in that moment; and he howled wordlessly, throwing his weight up and into Shaw and causing the knife to skitter away wildly – he struggled with everything he had to throw the man off him. Slapping, scratching and punching every part of Shaw he could reach.

He didn't even flinch.

In fact, he didn't budge at all. Everything Charles threw at him seemed to make no difference; Shaw's grin getting wider and wider until his face was practically splitting.

"You really are weak, Xavier," He laughed, "have you been relying on your telepathy that much?"

Charles stared in abject terror as Shaw clamped his hands around Charles' wrists, pinning his arms to the stone floor, practically crushing them with the force of his grip. A pained gasp was forced from him when his attacker's knee pressed excruciatingly hard against his groin.

"Now, now, Charlie," He crooned, pausing only to lick a line up the column of his throat, "No need to fight…"

The telepath sobbed freely, pain and humiliation rattling in the emptiness of his mind; unable to do nothing because of the cold, unfeeling helmet that was fastened to his head.

Teeth grazed against the corner of his jaw.

"You and me," Shaw whispered, ignoring Charles' tears and quiet begging to _please, just stop_, "We're going to have some fun together."

**(###)**

oOo

The ropes which bound Erik to the stone pillars of his bell tower chaffed against his wrists, pulling the skin from his flesh with each tug he made against their constraints.

Despite the fact that he had a little bit of freedom inside his bell tower, he knew now that he had lived his life in a prison all the same. He didn't know what life was – he didn't know how to live without the constraints set upon him from the first moments of his recollection.

Now he'd had the tiniest taste of freedom – with Charles, The Feast of Fools, The Court of Miracles, everything – he wanted it all. He wanted it bad. But all he could do was to watch helplessly over the square as night fell, and the pyre to which Charles and the other mutants would burn.

Shaw had placed him strategically. He was tied by the wrists and ankles to two pillars; spread-eagled like a mockery of Da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_ – something Shaw had shown him when he was seventeen with a mocking laugh and a scathing, _"look at it, Erik. See the perfection in him – every last inch of him in harmonious proportion. This is what you will never have, little Erik." –_ The irony of his position wasn't lost on Erik.

He was also in the most exposed part of the Cathedral; the wind whistling through the pillars and clawing at his skin with freezing talons. It was also the oldest part of the Cathedral, and so the one with the least metal; and with his head still spinning from the beating he'd received upon his arrival back to his tower, his power refused to stretch further than a few yards radius.

Not only that, but he had a perfect view of the square below, and the bonfire that would occur by the final disappearance of the sun.

This would never have happened if he hadn't left his tower. If he hadn't tried to warn Charles – fallen for his master's tricks, then maybe Charles would be alive tomorrow. But he wouldn't have discovered what it was like to love, if he hadn't.

His master hadn't said much to Erik when he came to in his bell tower, only watching stoically as the metal-bender groggily took in his surroundings, trying to remember how he'd got there.

**(~~~)**

As soon as Erik had got his faculties together, his master let rip. The beatings grew harder and harder, each strike of the knotted, leather whips gaining more speed and momentum, biting long bloody tracks into his skin. Each strike of the foot landing in the same spot on his stomach, over and over, never letting him catch a breath. Each piece of rickety furniture in his room broken over his back as Erik screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

**(###)**

The metal-bender's head now hung limply between his shoulders, bloody and bruised – uglier than ever.

He was disgusted with himself. He wasn't even sure why. He felt weak and pathetic and _useless_. He'd failed Charles – failed to protect him from the one person he couldn't even protect himself from.

Erik didn't think he was capable of hatred before now – especially hatred directed towards his master; who he loved, with all the love a twisted, monstrous boy could have for his father, his Master.

His creator.

But Charles… Charles didn't see the monster in him; didn't recognize the danger, and evil that resided inside his heart. Instead, he saw beauty and something special. Something to be cherished. Something to be loved.

Looking back, Erik wondered if he'd ever been truly loved before he'd met Charles.

Charles…

Charles who would burn on the stake with the rest of the mutants.

Oh, God, no. Not Charles. Please…

Drumrolls echoed through the darkness, and Erik's head snapped up, accompanied by a flare of pain. Metal entered into his diminished sensory range, and he cast his eyes left, watching his friends walk over to him with sombre faces.

"It's starting," Azazel murmured.

Erik choked on the tears threatening to flow as he gazed sideways at the only companions he'd ever really had.

"He's going to die isn't he?" His voice was hoarse, cracked from all his screaming.

All three of them gazed at him sadly, but none of them answered. Erik's voice got thicker, "and I'm next, right?"

He was met again with silence, and he choked out a sob, dropping his head between his shoulders again. A metallic hand closed comfortingly on his shoulder.

"First prisoner!" Shaw's voice could be heard, bellowing over the gathered crowd, who all remained silent and watching. "Charles Francis Xavier!"

Erik looked up, and strained to examine Charles as he was pushed up the steps towards the pyre.

The telepath looked absolutely terrible; he was pale and shaking, cringing at every shove from the guards, flinching as one of them spat at his feet. From this distance, Erik couldn't see any bruises or wounds; but he knew from experience that Shaw came up with creative methods of getting exactly what he wanted.

Erik noticed that Shaw's helmet was fastened onto Charles' head with a leather strap.

"Charles Xavier has been found guilty of the charge of witchcraft," murmurs ran through the crowd, some angry, others sounding a little uncertain.

"The sentence is _death."_

oOo

Charles felt so _dirty_. Every touch, every shove from the guards reminded him of Shaw and the way the man had ground against him – too desperate to do anything but thrust and grunt against his hip, biting at Charles lips until they bled, pressing blunt fingers into his skin until bruises formed. He doubted he would ever wash the violation from his memory.

And he was alone. He was so alone.

Nobody knew about what he'd been through – nobody saw how he was sullied and despoiled by the man claiming to be 'saving Paris'. There was no comforting song of thoughts in his head – no bursting flavour of other people's emotion.

Yes, he was truly, utterly, _wretchedly_ alone.

And so he let himself be led towards his death with a picture of all the people he cared for lined up in his head – Erik, Raven, Logan, Sean, Hank (who was lucky to have escaped capture – thank God he's decided to sleep in the cathedral quarters last night), Alex, Moira, all of his students – each young mind eager to learn and so full of goodness and light.

He wanted it back. He wanted it all back.

There was no hesitation in tying him to the pyre, the bedding of hay beneath his feet thick with oil, ready to burn on the whim of Sebastian Shaw.

The man in question turned to face him, his face an odd picture of disappointment. Charles didn't need his telepathy to know that Shaw would have liked 'another round' with him before he had to die.

"It's not too late, Charles," Shaw murmured, walking slowly towards the pyre, picking up the flaming torch held out by a soldier as he approached, "it's not too late to repent… Choose me… Or the fire."

Charles swallowed the urge to vomit; instead plucking up wheat little courage was left to spit directly into Shaw's face with all the savage defiance he could muster, as damaged and terrified as he was.

The man flinched and screwed his face up in disgust; bringing up a hand to wipe the gob from the bridge of his nose. His eyes were darkly furious, but he didn't shout, hit Charles or even slap him like the telepath expected. Rather, just stared at him coldly and raked his gaze up and down Charles with a gaze so tangible that he could almost feel it.

He shuddered.

"The witch, Charles, has refused to repent," Shaw bellowed over the murmuring crowd, "This evil witch has placed the soul of everyone in danger with his mind tricks. It is time we rid ourselves of the problem!"

oOo

Erik was well aware that Az was watching him – he could feel the quiet thrum of emotion in his metal body even through the fog of pain diminishing his ability.

"Are you just going to sit there?" He asked after a moment of watching Charles being fastened to the stake.

Erik lifted his head with a sigh, and turned the eye which hadn't started to swell over to his metallic friend. "What can I possibly do to help him? I was the one who put him there."

"No, _Shaw _put him there," Emma snapped, her brows pulled into an uncharacteristic scowl.

"It's all my fault," He groaned, letting his head fall forward to hang between his shoulders again.

There was a whining pressure at the base of Erik's skull – a mounting tension within his metal-sense that seemed to come from the quietest of his friends. Erik ignored it until the pressure reached an unbearable pitch in his already aching head.

"Say what you have to say, Janos."

The statue growled and spun towards Erik, grabbing roughly at the front of his torn, blood-spattered shirt. "You're being pathetic, Erik. It's time you stood up for yourself," The metallokinetic gazed dully at his creation, his pain addled brain unable to decide whether to be surprised by Janos' sudden change in demeanour, or ashamed of his own shortcomings.

"I've watched long enough while you've played the submissive, grateful servant under Sebastian fucking Shaw," He spat, "Finally, _finally,_ you find someone who sees you as the intelligent, good human being that you are, and you're going to just let him _die?!" _Janos was literally vibrating, and Erik wasn't sure if it was with the metal-man's emotion, or his own.

"You are so much stronger than he is, Erik. You don't have to stay here – he holds no power over you, and he never will." A perfectly smooth steel hand closed over Janos' weather-beaten one, loosening his fingers from Erik's shirt and patting him gently on the back.

Erik brought his eyes to Azazel's, who gazed back with an unreadable face until Emma had led the – still shaking – Janos back into the cathedral.

There was a long moment of tense silence between them, waiting each other out. Az broke the silence first.

"He's right," He murmured, "and you know it."

"I ruin everything," Erik whispered back, his voice almost wistful with loss, "everything I touch turns to rust in my hands."

"You did an alright job with us." Az sighed and turned to follow Emma and Janos. The copper man stopped just before he walked out of earshot. "You know, we hoped one day you'd come to your senses on your own. You don't need to be here. You never did.

"I guess we just hoped you were made of something stronger than us…"

Azazel left without another word.

Erik choked on tears that stung his swollen eye, feeling like his heart was being torn in a hundred directions.

Even if he did do something, would he get there in time? He doubted it would make any difference either way; none of them would get out alive. Not against hundreds of trained soldiers.

The thought of Charles dying though… screaming as flames licked up his pale skin, burning his blue eyes of their sockets... Never to look at him with the look of complete fascination and affection… It wasn't a thought he could entertain without being overcome with a wash of fury.

It wasn't fair. Why should he deserve everything taking from him? What did he do to deserve it?

The stone beneath his feet began vibrating at a barely noticeable frequency.

"…For the justice of Paris, and for his own salvation!" Shaw's voice rang out in the encroaching night, and Erik only seemed to get angrier; each slash of the whip, every kick, punch and slap replaying through his head over and over.

"It is my shameful duty to send him back to hell, where he belongs!" Erik began to tug on the rope binding his wrists and ankles to the cathedral, watching with a mounting, animalistic rage as the tiny figure of Shaw slowly brought a flame to the bed of hay Charles stood upon.

"No," he murmured impotently, fear mixing with the anger, bringing his pounding heartbeat to new heights.

"No." It got closer, and closer, at such a painfully slow speed. Erik could now feel the foundations humming to life, singing out in a terrifying harmony with his rage.

The flame touched the hay, and caught instantly, flaring up and beginning to encroach on Charles at an alarming speed.

"NO!" He vaguely registered he was screaming, but didn't hear it over the furious pulse in his ears and the harsh scraping sound of the metal in the building below his feet coming to life.

Molten metal seeped through the cracks in the stone and snaked up his legs, slicing the bindings at his ankles easily. As the metal slid over his skin like a familiar, welcoming animal, Erik felt an overwhelming feeling of coming home before his power exploded outwards.

It was overwhelming.

Suddenly he could feel every piece of metal for miles around, singing out to him with a siren call of _touchmepleaseIwanttohelp_. And he became aware of a shifting, pulsing attraction towards the north, its voice a deep, lazy rumbling which murmured comfortingly next to the space in his heart reserved for Charles.

Charles.

The reality of the moment snapped back to him in an instant. Using the metal still wrapped around his body, he pushed himself off the ground, floating into the air like he'd done so many times before. It seemed so easy now as he propelled himself through the air, down towards the square and Charles, who seemed to be sweating and gasping for breath.

He let his instincts take over and shot out two darts of the metal sliding over his skin, directing them to slice through Charles' bindings one after the other until the rope fell useless at the telepath's feet.

Charles eyes were wide as he gazed at Erik shooting through the air towards him with outstretched hands, using any and all metal on Charles' body to pull the man into his embrace and back up to the safety of the cathedral.

Erik heard Shaw's enraged screams as they sped towards the bell tower. "ERIK! I'LL KILL YOU. I'LL FLAY THE FLESH OFF YOUR BONES, YOU MUTANT SCUM!"

His threat went ignored as Erik stepped gently onto the wall of his tower, careful not to jolt the shivering telepath in his arms. A small strand of metal crept up Charles' face, carefully cutting the leather strap from the helmet that ensconced his power.

"Erik…" The man whispered as the metal-bender slid the offending headgear off his lover's head. _We won't be safe here, _Charles whispered in his mind, _Shaw won't care that this is a cathedral._

Erik smiled gently and pressed his lips to Charles' gently, missing the flash of terror and flinch from the telepath.

The metal-bender turned to face the crowd below, which seemed to have divided into two large groups, screaming and pushing at each other, pointing and staring at Erik stood precariously on the low wall of his balcony.

He brought Charles closer to his chest and screamed the one word that would hopefully keep them safe for the rest of their life.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!

"SANCTUARY!"

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**Please review; I love feedback :D 3**


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